


The "A" in "Normal"

by Yesitstyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Acephobia, Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Cuddling, M/M, Multi, Side Ziall, Some other minor characters - Freeform, and an oc but that doesn't matter, this is accidentally a lot more political than intended, very side kaylor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5536271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesitstyles/pseuds/Yesitstyles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis eats chips, argues with his best friend Nick about the validity of various sexualities, and falls for a <i>second</i> crush. Harry tries to spell the word "normal".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The "A" in "Normal"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wristrope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wristrope/gifts).



> You all ought to know, first of all, that I am a political theory student, and as such there are certain themes in here that I might have gotten carried away with (thanks, Foucault). Please, please, do not hesitate to let me know if anything I've written in here make you uncomfortable or strikes you as wrong. Also note that there are a number of opinions expressed herein which I do not share, though that should be made clear as the fic progresses. Now, this fic deals a lot with asexual and aromantic identities, and touches only _very_ briefly on the third 'a': agender. Although Louis (and others) let it slip to the wayside a lot here, agender identities are very important! My apologies for not addressing them more directly. 
> 
> I've written a lot of this using my own experiences as an asexual person for inspiration, and with the hope of addressing some thoughts and feelings I've not found in other ace fic. I hope that some of this resonates with some of you, and that you all feel validated in your identities with or without relating to this fic.

When Harry had cornered Louis after Nick's party on Thursday and told him that they "need to talk" with an oddly serious expression, Louis hadn't seen it going quite like this. He’s sat across from Harry on the patio of some pretentious café near campus, Harry's choice, clutching a piping hot earl grey between nervous fingers. It’s too hot to drink yet. Louis lifts it anyways, blows across the top and pretends to sip at it, just to stall.

Harry frowns at him over his coffee. "Seriously, Louis, I just. I honestly don't understand what your problem is."

"Problem with what?" Louis' voice comes out prickly, defensive. They met up ten minutes ago, and it’s been a tense ten minutes. "Get to the point." His lungs feel tight.

He'd thought he and Harry were getting on pretty well. Zayn had found Harry through a flatmate search on google, but it was actually Nick who had introduced Harry to Louis over lunch on Monday. Then on Thursday they had stuck together for most of the party, drinking Nick's shitty beer and gossiping about their surprisingly numerous mutual friends, and Harry was stupidly fun to hang out with. Louis isn't sure what’s gone wrong.

Harry glances down at his coffee and then back up, frowning. He looks oddly reluctant, uncomfortable in a way that seems out of place for him. Louis is preparing to snap something else, something like  _get on with it_  when Harry finally opens his mouth and says in a rush, “If you’ve got a problem with, with queer people,” and then he falters as though he isn’t sure where to take that.

“What,” says Louis, dumbly.

“I know Nick can be a bit overbearing, he’s really enthusiastic about activism - he’s a very outspoken member of the LGBT-plus community - and, I don’t know. I guess that might be a bit odd to you, coming from, like, a heteronormative society and it might take some adjusting but you can’t-”

“What are you talking about, Harry,” Louis cuts in, “are you saying I’m homophobic?” In retrospect, that’s a poor choice of wording on his part - that’s just what a homophobe  _would_ say, but the idea to Louis seems laughable.

Harry doesn’t see it that way, frown deepening. “I didn’t want to - I mean. Yes.” Louis has to admire how firm Harry’s voice is, though he’s still looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m not saying you’re a bad person, though,” he hastens to add, “I’m sure it’s not intentional, but like, you shouldn’t - you can’t get annoyed about queer activism. It’s important to talk about. Just because marriage equality’s passed doesn’t mean-” he’s starting to get passionate, and Louis would actually love to hear Harry’s thoughts on this, but he figures he’d better clear the air first.

“It’s not that,” he says, cutting Harry off again.

“What is it, then?”

And - ah. This is the part that Louis isn’t good at talking about.

Unfortunately, Nick genuinely means well on this count. He believes in what he’s saying, and mostly what he’s saying is something Louis can get behind. But sometimes Nick is wrong. He loves to go on about valid queer identities, or some shit. It’s an old argument, that the  _“A”_  doesn’t belong in the acronym. It’d been the usual rant, at the party, Nick’s favourite, where he goes on about how the  _A_  doesn’t amount to anything more than  _ally_  - they’re as good as synonymous.

It doesn’t get easier, no matter how many times Louis hears it.

Louis can only stall so much. Harry is watching him expectantly.

In theory, he’s very comfortable with his identity. In theory, he knows who he is, and isn’t ashamed to express that, if asked. In practice, the words don’t come as easily.

Harry, bless him, sits quietly and waits for Louis to get himself in order.  _Right, syllable by syllable, they’re just sounds,_  Louis tells himself.  _It’s not that hard._

“I’m asexual.”

There. Harry doesn’t answer immediately, so Louis elaborates. “He just goes on about the LGBT part, Nick does, says fuck-all about the other letters, and I just feel really ignored, and it’s not - nice, and it's not fair.” He scrubs a hand across his face. He realizes he sounds petulant, but it’s true. He lifts his tea to his mouth so he won’t say anything else.

“Oh,” says Harry after a pause, and, “alright, then.”

“Yes.” The tea is still too hot. Louis’ tongue smarts. Something heavy wells in him, the longer the silence stretches. Maybe Harry doesn’t believe in asexual identities, either.

Then Harry starts nodding, and Louis feels his first wash of relief. “That makes sense,” says Harry, slowly. The heavy feeling falls away, and Louis allows himself a deep breath into the open weightlessness it leaves behind. “I - er, I’m sorry, then.”

Louis hides a grimace in his piping hot mug but doesn’t take a sip this time. “Nothing to be sorry for. Hadn’t realized how I might’ve come across, I’m sorry. That must’ve been awkward.”

Harry shrugs, at ease again. Louis hasn’t known him long, but he doesn’t seem easily ruffled. “S’okay. I’m just...pretty gay,” he says it so casually, “and so I’ve got it relatively easy. I hate it when people try to gate keep. It’s not anyone else’s business, is it? To decide who can or can’t be queer. Or, like, LGBT...”

“Well,” Louis smiles broadly, “allies don’t really fit the bill.” He’s suddenly starting to feel a bit giddy, like he’s hyped on caffeine, and he thinks it might be relief. He tries not to show it, though.

Harry snorts. “Okay, but like, apart from that.”

“So, Harry, what do you think about heterosexual ace-spectrum people? Heteroromantic asexual,” Louis nearly trips over the terms, not used to saying them out loud. For Harry’s benefit, he adds, “People who, you know, are...straight, romantically, but not heterosexual. Think they still qualify?”

Harry seems to consider this. It’s early autumn, trees just beginning to lose their colours, and Harry looks pretty in his leather coat, cheeks flushed from the chill breeze.

“I don’t think,” Harry starts slowly, measuring his words, “it’s about where someone is on the spectrum. It’s more about how they choose to express it?” Louis nods. “In theory, I think, they could never be out about it, to themselves even, and if someone never  _chooses_ to identify as queer, then they’re not. You’re not queer if you don’t want to call yourself that. But if you do...” he trails off vaguely.

“Yes,” Louis nods in understanding, face split with a grin, “it’s about expression. If you own up-” no, that’s not quite right. Louis amends, “if you choose to use that label, you’re queer. Ace, aro, bi, pan, whatever.”

“Exactly!” Harry’s curls brush his shoulders as he nods.

The sky is wide and blue above them, and Harry’s eyes are bright, and Louis feels roughly the same about both brands of pretty. There’s no hint of that fabled  _desire_  - just an abstract, pleasant sense of appreciation.

“Why haven’t you told Nick yet?” Harry asks, as though it’s easy, as though it’s obvious. Louis shifts in his seat. “Have you tried?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah, I should, but.” He shrugs. “Haven’t really told anyone, yet.”

There’s a beat, and then Harry’s eyes widen and he sits back in a comically clear moment of realization. “Anyone? No one else knows?”

Louis shakes his head again. Blows out a noisy gust of air. “Hasn’t come up,” he admits. Which isn’t  _quite_  true, but he’s not ready to bring it up himself yet.

“So you’d tell them? Like, if they asked?”

“Maybe, if I was comfortable with them. Or if they said something assuming I was a heterosexual, I think I’d correct them.”

Harry nods thoughtfully. His mouth pulls into a sweet smile. “Thanks for telling me, then.”

“Thanks for listening.” Louis tries to tamp down on his own smile, shaping it into something more grateful than giddy and relieved.

Harry shrugs a bit, looking at once pleased and a little embarrassed, but sweetly so. “‘F ‘course,” he mumbles, “I’m always here to listen. If you want to talk. Or, like, vent, even, about anything. Nick can be a bit of a dick, I mean, I love him, but. You know.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I do,” he huffs, in the put-upon way he usually uses to talk about Nick, because heaven forbid he ever let on that he might like the man.

Harry laughs. “I love that,” he says, to which Louis replies with an odd stare, until he elaborates. “That thing you do. Where you pretend you don’t like each other-,”

“We don’t.”

“- but really, you’re best of friends.”

Louis shrugs. “Both might be true,” he says flippantly, “in theory.” Plausible deniability.

“Hasn’t he got a key to your flat?”

“He  _stole the spare_ ,” Louis insists, still a bit miffed about that.

Harry looks oddly endeared. He doesn’t press that conversation, though. Instead, he bites his lip and looks down into his coffee. They’re both much more at ease now than when they’d first sat down, but now suddenly Harry has that look again, like he’s not sure how to say what he wants to.

“So, do you-” Harry says eventually, “-is it alright, if I ask about, um.”

Louis hides a smile. “My sexuality?” He probably doesn’t hide it terribly well, he can feel his lips twitching. “Or lack thereof.”

Harry lets out a breath. “Yeah.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well… it’s a spectrum, right?” Louis nods in affirmation. “So, like...where do you fit on it? If that’s alright.”

Louis studies Harry briefly. He’s sort of been wondering, if he’s being honest, whether or not Harry would ask. And a bit of aesthetic attraction doesn’t mean much, but a part of him wonders if his being ace isn’t a bit of a turnoff for boys like Harry. Not that he wants Harry’s interest like that.

“Sure,” Louis shrugs, “I’m just ace, I think, so I get romantic attraction. Not that I’ve had a tremendous amount of experience on that front, but I’m too much of a hopeless romantic,” he scrunches his nose a bit, but smiles unabashedly.

Harry laughs. “Same. I’m completely hopeless - I’m a total sucker for romantic comedies.”

Louis’ eyes light up, elbows pressing forward on the table. “You too? God,” he rolls his eyes, “Nick tried to give me so much shit for it the first time he saw my DVD collection, the hypocrite.”

"Nick? Never!”

“He did!” Louis insists, “To this day, he refuses to admit to his healthy appreciation for  _Love, Actually_. He makes a big deal of it whenever I try to put it on.”

“He definitely got teary at the end when we watched it.” Harry’s lips quirk as he leans across the table and Louis laughs, feeling a little bit untethered. Strangely weightless, like Harry’s shaken his bearings.

“He watched it with you, too?”

“My pick,” Harry admits, “it’s my favourite.”

“Excellent taste,” says Louis fervently. “It’s definitely up there for me.”

“Gem - my sister, Gemma - pokes fun at me too, it’s awful. Why can’t a man enjoy a good romance in peace?”

They’re both leaning across the table, Louis hard enough that the edge digs into his ribcage. His chest feels pleasantly buoyant, and his cheeks hurt. He likes people, always has, but this -  _Harry_ is something good. On impulse, Louis says, “We could do that.”

“Which film?” Harry asks immediately, as though they’ve met more than three times.

For a heartbeat, Louis doubts himself.

It’s not uncommon. The trouble with identifying a  _lack_  of feeling is that there’s no real frame of reference. Maybe it’s a subtler feeling than advertised, maybe it’s this - instant connection, strange blaze of friendship that knocks you sideways, because people aren’t usually this easy to like. It’s regrettably easy to question his own identity. Louis’ not opposed to this feeling, but he feels a little at a loss as to what to do with it.

“Whatever you like,” says Louis. “We’ve got Netflix, too. Netflix and chill.”

Harry laughs and Louis smiles sharply. There’s something nice about being able to make jokes when all parties know there’s no element of truth behind them.

And the thing is, Harry’s attractive. His eyes are bright, and his mouth is pink and he smiles like a celebrity, and he’s got great hair and a sharp fashion sense, and Louis isn’t always sure how to distinguish  _pretty_  from...whatever sexual attraction feels like.

In the end, what it comes down to is that there are a lot of beautiful things in the world, and there’s a constant barrage of media insisting that  _sex_  is some kind of eternal truth, but Louis’ never wanted that. It’s not  _his_ truth. It’s never been an easy conclusion to come to - except, somehow, it is.

“I think I’m free next weekend,” Harry offers.

Louis mentally runs over his schedule. School hasn’t picked up yet, so he’s fairly open. “Saturday?”

“Yeah, alright,” says Harry, and pulls out a pen and a leather bound notebook from his bag. He opens it up to a page marked with a bit of ribbon.

“You carry an agenda?” Louis can’t hide a note of amusement.

“It’s very helpful,” Harry says defensively. It certainly looks well-worn, given that it’s only the first month of classes.

“Y’know, technology exists, there are these miraculous telephone things nowadays, they can organize things for you...”

“Nah,” Harry draws it out, slow like the smile that blooms across his face. He claps a hand over the cover of his book. “This keeps me special.”

Louis thinks about how much he’s just told Harry over tea, and it’s a little weird, when he thinks about it, how easily he’s confessed to things he’s never said aloud before. “That you are,” he says, truthfully.

 

++

 

Louis should know better than to try to study when Nick’s around, but somehow he always finds himself in the regrettable position of sitting next to Nick in the library. This time, it’s really his own fault - he should have turned off his phone, and he should definitely have ignored Nick’s increasingly obnoxious texts asking where Louis was.

But here they are.

Louis’ got his head bent low over his textbook, twirling a pen between his fingers as he tries to focus. Sometimes, when he finally gets around to doing his readings, he finds himself pleasantly surprised at how  _doable_  they are. Sometimes he even enjoys the theory behind them. Artaud’s  _The Theatre and Its Double,_ however, is the kind of dense that would sink through lead, and Louis would like nothing better than to brain himself with it.

Nick, to his left, is allegedly working on his  _Pretentious Media 300_ course, which mostly seems to involve a lot of distractingly fast-paced YouTube videos. He keeps on snorting at whatever’s playing, and will occasionally nudge Louis as if to invite him to watch, and then ‘remember’ that Louis’ been trying to study, shake his head and mouth ‘never mind’. Louis isn’t fooled; there’s no mistaking that shadow of a grin on Nick’s face.

Louis, for his part, will tug on Nick’s earphones whenever he reads something interesting, or (more often) reads something that can be made into innuendo, or (most often) needs to look at something else.

All in all, it’s slow going.

They’re the only people in this section, at least, so when Louis has finally had enough, he lets out a long sigh and doesn’t have to worry about bothering anybody sitting nearby.

Nick looks up from YouTube. A series of film clips flick rapidly across the screen, cut in half with a dotted line. The title reads “Wes Anderson Centred”, which seems slightly more legit than the “Drake Hotline Bling Funny vine compilation”, which had been up five minutes ago. Louis squints at it and tries to guess whether or not it’s actually classwork.

“Yes?” Nick asks, when Louis doesn’t say anything.

Louis glances at him. “What?”

Nick pauses the video. “You just did the sigh-and-stretch.” He demonstrates, pushing his chair back and stretching his arms towards the table while looking at Louis pointedly.

“Theatre theory.”

Nick nods in immediate understanding.

“Ah, yes. How’s Aristotle?”

“ _Modern_  theory. It’s kind of messed up,” Louis tells Nick. The essay he's on currently is literally called  _Theatre of Cruelty_ , and it is cruel reading indeed _._ He makes the executive decision to finish it (less than a quarter done) at a later date.

“Ooh, sounds exciting,” Nick says as Louis begins to pack his things. “Messed up how?”

“Ask me when I’ve actually done the reading.” Hopefully he actually will, it’s probably important.

They skip the elevator down to the main floor, because the wait is always longer than the stairs, and emerge blinking into the afternoon sunlight. It’s a pleasantly crisp day, and the busy walkway is scattered with dead leaves.

Nick is jabbering on about media politics, and Louis is half-listening but most of it is going right over his head, so half of his attention is on the people walking by. His eyes catch on a lanky boy in a sharp scarf, all long lines and nice hair.

“-Louis, are you listening to me?”

“Of course, dear.” Louis offers a sugared smile. “Media politics, yeah?”

Nick looks heavenward, and then seems to remember that rolling his eyes would be a very  _Louis_ thing to do, and God forbid they catch each other's’ habits. “See something interesting, then?”

Louis frowns. “What’s that?”

“You actually turned your head to look at him. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.” Nick looks uncomfortably smug, like they’re sharing a secret. “Tall bloke, yeah? Nice fashion sense, good taste.”

Louis shrugs uncomfortably. “It’s just people-watching.”

“ _Just_  people-watching? Never. Silently judging innocent passers-by is a time-honoured sport. It’s my favourite bit about living in London, the bystanders are so much fun to look at.”

Louis’ still a little on edge, because Nick’s never called him out before on his apparent lack of interest in people, but he feels a flush of gratitude at the casual subject change. “You probably don’t have half as much fun as they do,” says Louis, by way of thanks, “judging your odd face.”

“Awh, Louis, d’you think I turn heads?”

Louis looks Nick face-on. In the thin October light, he does look striking. But if Louis’ gaze catches on Nick’s eyes lit up with the angled sunlight – well, that’s his own business. Nick’s never going to care much for Louis’ sense of attraction, anyways.

Louis quashes the flutter of interest with practised ease. He tilts his head side to side noncommittally and twists his face up into a deliberate grimace. Hums vaguely. “Well…”

Nick makes a similar face back at him, before his gaze catches on something behind Louis. “There's no better place to people-watch than campus,” he says suddenly, grabbing Louis’ elbow and turning him to look to their right. “Look at that one, white spiky hair there,” he says in a low voice, though the guy in question is too far to hear. “Looks like someone from one of Zayn’s shows, yeah?”

Louis stares. “The anime? He  _does_ , he really does.” It’s a little uncanny, right down to the long flowing jacket. “Think it’s on purpose?”

“Might be,” Nick says thoughtfully. “He looks a bit like Spike, too.” At Louis’ blank look, he adds, “from Buffy?”

“The Vampire Slayer? I wouldn’t know.” He casts around for someone else, someone not strictly aesthetically attractive, just  _interesting -_ “Oh, how much d’you want to bet that one’s overheating?” He nods towards someone in a long fur coat.

“That’s…voluminous,” Nick observes. “In great shape, though. You could put it in a shampoo ad.  _L’Oreal. Your coat is worth it_.”

Louis laughs, feeling the tension unravel. “There’s a market they haven’t reached yet. Maybe we should suggest it to Harry.” Fur Coat swishes by with admirable flair, quite possibly another theatre student.

“What, for business class? Yes, let’s pitch it. ‘Hey, Harry…’”

“‘We’ve got a  _great_  business opportunity for you. Picture this, right:  _L’Oreal, for fur_.’”

“Find the perfect gift for her!”

“Him  _or_  her,” Louis chides.

“Gender-neutral marketing? Wouldn’t that be nice. Nah, drug stores would never know where to put a gender-neutral product.”

That’s a fair point. “L’Oreal hers and his fur shampoos. So they can tell their coats apart by how floral they smell.”

“ _Parfum de bunnies_ , and  _cologne de wolverine, for him_ , or something.”

“ _Parfum de bunnies,”_  Louis repeats. “Those sound appealing. Remind me not to let you go into marketing.”

“Speaking of Harry,” Nick starts suddenly, “how’ve you been getting on?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Good, yeah… we, ah, had a little Netflix and chill on the weekend,” he grins.

“Oh, did you?” Nick wiggles his eyebrows. “Good lad! What’d you watch,  _Bend it Like Beckham_?  _Free Willy_?”

Louis nearly chokes. “Nah,” he says, cool as he can, “ _Dirty Harry_.” He can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face as Nick lets out a bark of laughter. “Next time, we’re thinking  _Pretty in Pink,_ ” he adds, to keep him laughing.

“How about  _Big Daddy_?” Nick suggests, “or  _Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close_?”

Louis nods along. “ _It Might Get Loud._  Harry’s a big music fan.”

“ _Deep Impact_.”

“ _Fists of Fury._ ”

Nick raises his eyebrows. “ _Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot_.”

Louis pauses on the “ _Fast and Furious”_  he had on the tip of his tongue and stares at Nick. “That’s not a real film.”

“It is!” Nick looks stupidly pleased with himself. Louis can’t be sure whether or not he’s telling the truth - media student, Nick knows hundreds of obscure titles.

“Well it’s not what I’m watching with Harry. We prefer more…” he pauses, thinking. “ _Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels.”_ Maybe  _Ace Ventura_ , Louis thinks privately, and his smile widens a little.

 

++

 

Louis belongs to a very specific kind of social circle. In college he'd been in the theatre crowd, and he'd sort of thought that university would be too big for that kind of categorization, but here he is in Queer Central.

"No, listen, she was so hot, you don't understand."

"Not really, no," Harry laughs. Nick and Louis have collectively managed to drag Harry out for the traditional Wednesday Chips Night. His reception into their circle has been swift and overwhelmingly successful.

Taylor sighs wistfully and leans back on the bench. "It must be so limiting, getting stuck with attraction to just one gender. I don't know how you can stand it."

He's aware that they're a bit of an annoying type, most of them obnoxiously vocal about how queer they are. Mostly, he doesn't care. He likes to think he's above the odd animosity that exists between labels of social groups. His flatmate, Liam, would probably fit the category of  _bro_  in the least flattering sense, but Louis loves him regardless.

"It's a hard burden to bear." Nick places a palm dramatically on his chest. "We do accept support in the form of monetary donations and chips."

"Nice try, pal," Louis swats Nick's hand away from his plate. The chips are the only decent thing on the menu here, hence the title of their weekly meet-up.

“Come on, help a gay out.” Nick wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulder, cuddling up to his side.

“I refuse.”

Harry snickers into his beer, and pushes his basket towards Nick. “Guess it’s up to us to stick together.”

“Ah, bless your soul, Harry. Look at this.” He turns to Louis and waves a chip under his nose. “I think I’ve found a new best friend, Louis.”

Louis takes a swig of beer. “Didn’t know you had one to begin with,” he says coolly as he sets down his glass.

“D’you know, now you mention it, I can’t for the life of me remember it if I did.”

“Well,” Louis says, patting Nick’s knee where it’s still pressing warm against Louis’, “it’s good to see you’re able to make friends.”

“One of us had to be the first. Don't worry, I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough.”

Louis widens his eyes and offers Nick his most insincere smile. "Do you really think so?"

“Well…” Nick starts, cut off by Liam's arrival at their table.

"Stop flirting and shove over, Tommo." He slides heavily into the booth as Louis makes an affronted noise but shifts over obligingly, heaving a long sigh. "Been on my feet for four hours," he groans. He's wearing his red chippy cap obnoxiously backwards on his head, and hasn't even bothered to take off his grease-stained apron.

"Budge off, you smell like a deep fryer," Louis tells Liam, shoving at Nick to make more room on the bench. Liam's the only reason they come to Wednesday Chip Nights, really. He gets them discounts, and in return they keep him company on his dinner break during his regular six-hour Wednesday night shift. The food’s awful, but it’s cheap, and it’s familiar.

Liam pushes himself upright with what appears to be a Herculean effort and finally offers a little wave to the table. "Hello, don't think I know you," he addresses Harry and Taylor on the other side of the bench. "I'm Liam. Small group today?" This last part is for Louis, who nods. It’s only four of them, plus Liam, tonight, where usually it’s an odd assortment of both Louis’ friends and Nick’s. They’re not even a proper clique, not really, but this is the place where they intersect, like a Venn diagram of Louis-and-Nick, a weird mash of friends that get on in a way that always surprises Louis.

"Ed's at a gig, Zayn and Niall are at the movies or something, not sure."

"Pixie and Aimee are at some kind of crafts market," Nick adds.

"Busy night, I guess," Louis shrugs. "You know Harry, Zayn’s new flatmate. And that's Taylor, Ed's exchange student."

"Ah," Liam's eyes light up in recognition, nodding at both of them. "From America, right?" He asks Taylor.

"That's right." Taylor offers him that movie-star smile of hers. Liam seems to go a little melty. Louis elbows him under the table so he won’t make a tit of himself.

"We've got Liam to thank for the discount here, say, thank you, Liam." To Louis' surprise, all four of the people sitting around him chorus a thank you. Liam joins in halfway through, beaming.

“Just don’t order anything but the chips,” Liam tells her. “We’re not kidding when we say they’re the only good thing on the menu.”

“Oh, yeah, Ed warned me.” She smiles sweetly back in thanks anyway.

“No warning could ever do this place justice,” Louis says conspiratorially, leaning away from Liam as though to stop him from listening in. “Our Liam here just can’t cook, not for the life of him.”

“Mate,” Liam cuts in, mock-offended, “pot, kettle.” He turns to Taylor with raised eyebrows. “I’ve got photos on my phone, if you want to look. He tried to make pasta last week.”

“Lies! Slander!” Louis knows exactly which pictures Liam’s talking about, and - well, in Louis’ defence, he’d only slept an hour the night before. It was absolutely not usual for him to just fall asleep on the couch.

“Can I see?” Harry leans forward, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Liam reaches into his pocket, chuckling, but Louis is faster. Personal space has no meaning. He snatches the phone from Liam’s back pocket and lunges away, flinging himself across Nick’s lap in an effort to keep the phone out of reach.

“Can’t have you besmirching my name,” he sings, trying to guess Liam’s password. “You changed the lock again.” He frowns. He’s not above locking the phone for the next hour, though, if that’s what it takes to save his dignity.

Nick, tolerant as ever, gives Louis a good jab in the ribs, and then settles his elbows along Louis’ side when he doesn’t budge. This is uncomfortable, because, elbows, but it does have the benefit of blocking Liam’s reaching arms. Also, Nick has a very nice lap. Ten out of ten, Louis-approved. And if he likes being sprawled across Nick’s lap as if he owns it – well, that’s his own business. Nick’s never going to care much for sensual attraction, anyways. Louis’ got no boundaries. But wanting to close the physical gap in a non-sexual way isn’t going to do much for Nick, nor any other allosexual.

“I’m a neutral party,” Nick lies, at Liam’s request for help. “I’m Switzerland. I’m Bella Swan.”

“Aha!” Louis crows, without looking up from Liam’s screen. In about fifty seconds he’ll try another code. “I knew you’d read it!”

“As if you haven’t,” Nick scoffs, even though last time someone had brought up the subject of  _Twilight_ , he’d vehemently denied having read it.

Taylor sits forward suddenly, lighting up. “Have you heard about the new edition?”

This earns her a glance from Louis, eyebrows lifted. “You're a fan?” He would try not to judge her for it, but - well, no, he probably won’t try at all.

She waves a hand in a vague way that might mean  _no_ and might mean  _point your judgement somewhere else_. “They've released a gender-swapped version. It's pretty cool,” she says, looking around the table as if to find support.

“I have heard of that, actually,” Nick offers. “Was thinking of maybe mentioning it on my show.” This is news to Louis, but he's distracted from commenting by the reappearance of Liam's lock screen. “I thought I might bring up how she felt it was necessary to swap everyone, right, not just one half of a couple. Any couple, not even necessarily Bella and Edward.”

“Queer Twilight?” Harry sounds interested.

“I would have loved gay Alice and Jasper. I love Alice,” Taylor enthuses. Quite possibly a fan, then. “But I can't complain about werewolf women. Just, an entire pack of hot girls,” she hums approvingly, and Liam bursts out laughing.

“Our token straight,” Louis explains over the laughter, trying to prop himself up so he can better see the table. Taylor looks as though she's not sure whether or not to feel offended, so for Liam’s sake Louis continues, “he's not used to so much exposure.”

Liam starts, “Hey-”

“Hasn't caught on to the reality of the carefully documented phenomenon,” Nick says, and Louis choruses with him, “the glitter effect.”

This earns them a laugh and some expression of confusion from both new parties, so Louis has to explain, “Nick pretends to have some understanding of sociology, but he's lying.”

“No, I think it's psychology, actually,” Nick argues, shuffling his elbows on top of Louis in a way that is probably intentionally painful. “It's like, you know how in pre-school, there was always that one kid at the crafts table who was covered in glitter?  _Always_  - like tinker bell’s exploded on them. And-”

“You're telling it wrong,” Louis interrupts. “It's to do with how a group of gays is known as a ‘glitter.’”

“Is it?” Liam asks curiously.

“Well, it should be,” Louis amends.

“I've never heard that,” says Harry, treacherously.

“I can confirm,” Nick says. Good man. Louis pats him on the elbow digging into Louis’ hip. “But - listen, in crafts, there was never just one piece of glitter-”

“Not relevant,” Louis insists.

The truth is, neither of them can remember how they came up with ‘ _the glitter effect.’_ They've been saying it for years now - it was probably from one of the first civil conversations they ever had (which probably means that they were too drunk to be coherent anyway). But Nick uses it on his show regularly, so every time someone asks them to explain it, they have to come up with something new. It's come to be one of Louis’ favourite games.

“Shut up, you're not the one telling the story,” says Nick. “Basically, it's the phenomenon where queer people tend to cluster around each other,” he tells Harry and Taylor.

“Even when they’re not out,” Louis adds. Over the course of his two years at university, more than half of his friends from sixth form have come out.

“That's… I hadn't thought of that,” Harry says slowly.

“Are you sure that’s a thing?” Taylor seems skeptical. But she's a fan of Twilight, so her opinion is automatically less important.

“What, do you keep straight friends?” Nick asks, miming shock.

“I'm right here,” says Liam. Nick ignores him.

Taylor shrugs bony shoulders. “I've dated straight men.”

Nick and Louis share a sort-of-subtle grimace. “But are you  _friends_  with them?” Louis presses. “You've never felt the need to form a defensive alliance of queer against the cold heterosexual community?”

“A social contract, if you will” Nick puts in, because he took a philosophy course last term and hasn't shut up about it, “against the nasty and brutish straights?”

“Hence Wednesday Chips Night?” Harry asks.

“A brief respite,” Louis confirms.

Taylor looks amusedly between them. “Where’d this come from?”

“Chips night?” Asks Liam, already reaching for his cap to demonstrate his role.

“The Glitter Effect.”

“It's science,” Nick tells her. “But I talk about it on my shows, so we’re seeing rising levels of campus awareness of this very legitimate phenomenon.”

Taylor's eyes go wide. “Oh, radio show, right? Ed mentioned that! That's so cool. Are you on it together?” She gestures between Nick and Louis.

“Oh, no,” Louis says, quickly, “I haven't got the voice for it.”

But the damage is done, and Nick grins over at Louis and nudges him to sit up properly. “See, Louis? What have I been saying,” he looks altogether too pleased as Louis wriggles into a sitting position, finally removing himself from Nick’s lap. He’s got a crick in his spine and he feels cold where Nick’s been all over him .

“You've got a really wonderful voice,” Harry says, and Louis wrinkles his nose and tries not to appear flustered.

“You have a radio personality,” Taylor insists.

“You do,” Harry agrees. “You've got a really good dynamic. Like, the two of you, I can see you working really well on radio.”

“We’d strangle each other,” Louis protests.

“Look,” Nick clasps a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “I've been saying for years-”

“You've only had the show six months, Nick.”

“You should join me! You wouldn't have to come on regularly, just visit sometime. Special guest star Louis Tomlinson, internationally famous  _X-Factor_  competitor, or something.”

“I never actually tried out,” Louis reminds him.

“Ex- _X-Factor_  competitor.”

“That doesn't make  _sense_.”

“You two would be  _great_ ,” says Taylor. As her opinion is discredited on grounds of being in favour of Twilight, Louis doesn't particularly care.

“You would,” Harry says, earnestness giving Liam a run for his money. “You should do it. You'd be great on radio.”

Louis’ not sure what his face is doing, but it's probably nothing good, judging by Nick’s smirk. It's oddly flattering, is the thing. And radio’s only speaking, right? It can't be too bad.

“If I agree,” Louis says, as Nick’s smirk opens into a grin, “you won't pester me to do it again.”

“Done.”

Harry cheers quietly, and Taylor claps her hands together excitedly.

Nick looks smug. “Don't back out.”

“We’ll hold you to it,” Harry says, dimpling at Louis. Something like serious trouble bubbles up in Louis’ chest.

“Awesome.” Taylor's hands are still clasped in front of her, and she sits forward, eyes glinting. “So, Nick, do you ever play music on your show? Like, original work?”

Turns out Taylor’s quite full of her own musical talent, but Louis zones out for most of her monologuing. They stay late, as always, only filing out when Liam’s finally done his shift at half past ten, and Louis feels warm and lethargic. The cold hits them like a wall, and they say their goodbyes quickly so as not to linger outside.

Harry lives in roughly the same direction as Liam and Louis. He walks with them, the first few blocks in silence, shivering in their jackets and puffing out clouds into the damp air. Louis shoves his hands as deep into his pockets as he can and bitterly regrets leaving his gloves at home.

“D’you know,” says Harry, breaking the silence, “I haven’t actually...heard Nick’s show?”

“What? You’re joking. Don’t let Nick hear you say that,” Louis warns.

“I know - s’why I didn’t bring it up earlier.” Harry’s lips twitch upwards. “Wanna come by on Friday to give it a listen? I don’t have class.”

“No excuse, then! Sure, alright,” because Harry lives basically right on campus, and it’s always a bit awkward to just sit in the library with headphones in, not doing any work.

So Louis finds himself two days later in Harry’s bedroom. It’s not the first time he’s been to the flat, but he’s never seen Harry’s room before. Zayn’s out, so Harry makes a beeline for his door, holding it open for Louis to walk through. It’s tiny and cramped, but it’s very  _Harry_ , and Louis pauses to take in the Polaroids on the walls (honest-to- _God_ ), and a crooked string of fairy lights over the bed. The silence is muffled by the soft sound of traffic just outside, and the bedsheets are pulled sloppily across the mattress. Louis feels suddenly very aware of Harry, pulling shut the door behind them and nudging past Louis to set his laptop on the desk.

“You can just sit - wherever,” Harry says as he fiddles with his keyboard. Louis stares warily at the bed and wonders how many boys Harry’s had there. He thinks of sitting down on the comforter, shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry, laughing along to the radio-

Louis sits down very quickly on the floor right where he stands. There’s a dangerous fluttering in his stomach that he doesn’t want to encourage.

Music starts up from the speakers, cutting in halfway through Adele belting out a heartfelt greeting. Harry pulls back and looks down at Louis bemusedly.

“How’s the carpet?”

“Good, thanks,” Louis nods. “Nice. Soft. Well-nourished. I can tell you treat it well.” Is he babbling? Signs point to yes. “What breed is it?”

“Um, Ikea, I think,” Harry laughs, and lowers himself down next to Louis, leaning back against his mattress. Louis turns to mirror him, their knees knocking together and drawn up between the bed and Harry’s desk, Louis’ toes pressing up against the drawers.

Adele fades out as they make themselves comfortable in the narrow space of floor, and then suddenly there’s Nick’s disembodied voice in Harry’s bedroom with his usual cheery greeting, launching straight into a short anecdote about Dave Hamilton, token ally at all the queer events and Nick’s worst nemesis.

Louis listens every week, and every week Nick talks about the L and G and B and T, and sort of leaves it at that. It’s all fairly banal, fairly binary, but Nick’s got a good voice and personality for radio, and he cracks jokes that make Louis laugh. This week’s Dave Hamilton story has Harry’s shoulders rattling against Louis’ as Nick’s voice rises in put-on outrage.

“He’s good,” Harry says when Nick’s voice switches out for a song, and Louis feels an odd sense of pride.

“He is.”

The show carries on as normal for most of the hour, and it’s not until the final ten minutes that things suddenly turn uncomfortable.

Nick’s got a questions box on the radio website, and every so often he’ll go through it and answer questions on air. Sometimes they’re truly shocking - the kind of question Nick reads out just to laugh at, like, “where do gays live?” or, “My boyfriend seems really gay, should I break up with him?” As if Nick’s running relationship counselling.

“Oh, this is a good one,” says Nick, “anonymous asked, ‘why do you never talk about asexual spectrum identities?  _Well."_

Louis sinks down a bit and focuses on a dent he’s noticed in the corner of one of Harry’s desk drawers. Harry makes a little hum of concern.

“Right, see, asexual really isn’t itself a queer identity. If you’re not attracted to people, it’s a  _bit_ hard to be queer, isn’t it – since it’s sort of contingent on having  _some_  interest in same-sex relationships,” Nick laughs, and Harry wiggles an arm awkwardly from between them to rest around Louis’ shoulder. “You’re never going to have to worry about bringing home the wrong partner, are you? Believe it or not, queer is a political word. Shocker, yeah? It comes from a long,  _shared_ history of violence and oppression and that, and the thing is, we’re taking it back from that history.” Louis’ hands curl up tightly in his lap and his gaze stays fixed on the drawer. “Asexual people don’t share that history. And these days queer folks face a lot of oppression that is frankly not anything like what asexuals experience. That’s it, really. Not experiencing sexual desire doesn’t quite measure up. It’s mainly a term brought up by a bunch of straight people in, say, 2000, who wanted the opportunity to get themselves a bit of a spotli-”

Harry’s sat up on his knees with his hand still on the lip of the closed laptop, frowning down at Louis.

Louis’ hands make an aborted motion towards his face, but he catches himself. Harry’s watching him carefully, so he tangles his fingers carefully back in his lap.

“Sorry, that- I didn’t want to hear that. I hope-”

“It’s fine,” says Louis.

“Not really.” Harry sits back down and arranges himself along Louis’ side, arm curled around Louis’ shoulders again. “That’s not - you know it’s not right…right?”

Louis coughs. “Yeah, ‘f course.” The thing is, it’s hard to argue. Nick’s argument just feels  _wrong_ , though that’s hard to justify out loud - and Louis’ really decidedly interested in men, romantically. So, “I’m not some straight guy wanting to stake a claim. Like, it’s not about… it’s not about whether you have sex or not, yeah? There’s this, like, compulsory sexuality as much as the compulsion to be straight Nick talks about. It’s not about-” Louis cuts himself off, trying to make sense of his own thoughts.

“I know,” Harry says quietly, but Louis feels wound-up and overflowing with thoughts and feelings, and he can’t stop himself talking.

“I’m not going to be fired for not… it’s not explicit. I won’t be denied marriage for it or, really, any of that. But… not all queer issues are the same. Trans people face a lot of different problems. And of course you could argue that they’d be better off distinct, because they’ve got different issues to address. But in the end,” Louis untangles his fingers and gestures uselessly. “They’re all identities that might threaten a person’s relationship with family members and loved ones. Some more than others,” he concedes, because that’s obvious, “but there’s prejudice against all of these. And-” Louis breaks off with a noise of frustration. “You - Nick cannot say that we live in a society that’s accepting or understanding of people who  _don’t feel sexual attraction_. That’s - fuck, if people believed in it, they’d say we were  _just_  as unnatural as being gay. Either way we’re hindering reproduction, or whatever. Shit.”

Harry’s arm is heavy across Louis’ shoulders. He makes a sympathetic noise. “I know, Lou. ‘S not right, what Nick’s saying.” Louis appreciates that, because he’s pretty certain he’s not actually making sense. But he doesn’t really want sympathy - he wants someone to challenge him. He wants Nick, he wants to argue with Nick, to shout and scream and set him straight .

“As if - my mum says you can’t fall in love without sexual attraction. And  _everyone knows_  falling in love and having sex are really what makes life worthwhile,” Louis spits. “It wasn’t hard figuring I was gay. I wasn’t  _straight_. So I figured… before I really knew anything, that was what I figured. It’s not just a disinterest in sex,” Louis ignores yet another sound of sympathy from Harry. “You  _know_  there’s something wrong with you, because everyone else is going  _on_  about some girl’s tits and you honestly just don’t  _care_. But there’s… nothing. There’s just nothing, not for girls, not for boys. So what are you?”

In the following silence, Louis has regrets. He hadn’t meant for his rant to turn into a pity party. He hadn’t meant to rant at all.

“Look, Lou… it’s fine, if you want to talk. I’m always here. I mean, not always physically with you, obviously, but. You know.”

Louis shrugs off Harry’s concern. He’s a cuddly person, though, so if he lets Harry press even closer against his side and sit there until the afternoon sunlight has mostly faded from the room and the heavy silence is cut by the sound of Zayn banging about in the kitchen – well, Louis’ a cuddly person. It’s definitely nothing to do with seeking comfort.

He can’t stay here forever, unfortunately, has to go back to campus and work on some bloody cruel theatre exercises for class. So he pulls himself reluctantly away from the warmth of Harry’s flat, and then he throws himself into his group project and lets himself forget for a while about Nick and the reality of ignorance.

 

++

 

Twenty minutes after Louis gets home, he gets a long, indecipherable text from Nick. As it’s a Friday night, he turns his phone on silent, with the intention of scrolling through all the embarrassing drunk texts he’s gotten in the morning. It’s a Friday night, so he should probably be heading out and having a few drinks himself, but it’s also twenty past ten on a Friday night and he’s only just gotten back from campus, because theatre is a much more demanding program than anyone assumes. And maybe it’s the thing with Nick earlier, or maybe it’s the grim weather or Louis hasn’t had enough water today, but Liam’s already out for the night, the flat is dark and empty, and Louis feels a bit wiped, empty himself. So he powers up his laptop and settles in to watch some Game of Thrones instead of going out.

A moment later, his phone lights up again with another text, and he’s still waiting for his computer to boot, so he opens his phone to see.

 

_Nick_

_10:18 pm_

_guess who o ran intp_

_onto_

_10:19 pm_

_Dace hamlitnnk_

 

As Louis is trying to decipher that, he gets another one:

 

_10:21 pm_

_thr A in LGBT+_

 

This presents two puzzles: first, how Nick’s managed to properly spell out the acronym, and secondly, why he’s texting Louis about the  _A_  in the line.

If he feels a stupid lurch of hope, it’s gone very quickly, and no one has to know.

 

_10:22 pm_

_like apprecitea the supolort mate but touer not querre_

 

That would explain it, then. It’s the usual A-for-Ally argument. Dave Hamilton isn’t ace, but he does consider himself, as an ally, to have a place in the queer community. To hear Nick talk, being ace or aromantic is no different. Going by the texts, he’s probably ranting about something to that end right now.

Louis’ too tired to be dealing with this. And it’s not really a disappointment to parse out Nick’s meaning, because Louis would’ve been naive to expect anything else. A drunk night out won’t change Nick’s opinions.

Louis turns his phone over so he won’t see the incoming texts. He’s suddenly not sure he’s in the mood for Netflix after all.

Liam’s out on the town, too, like most of their friends. And here Louis is, sitting on his couch, alone, as he most likely always will be. Because most people don’t know he exists and probably wouldn’t be interested in his limited offer of nonsexual romance.

He doesn’t even care that much, and he’s more frustrated with himself than anything, sitting in the dark and wallowing in self-pity because of a drunk text. He should find someone to hang out with.

Niall is the most obvious option, because he lives two floors down and goes out nearly every night of the week indiscriminately, so this being a Friday has little bearing. Every step down the stairs seems to jar the murky knot of frustration in Louis’ chest, dark mood descending on him like a storm cloud 

Niall doesn’t answer the door, not the first or second or third time Louis rings. He tries to think of who else might be around on a Friday night, or at least be checking their phones.

 

_Louis_

_10:32 pm_

_hi ! you around ?_

 

He gets a reply before he’s even reached the top of his stairs.

 

_Harry_

_10:33 pm_

_The sad life of a double major, so much work. You?_

 

_Louis_

_10:33 pm_

_Theatre’s harder than you’d think , styles_

 

_Harry_

_10:35 pm_

_I didn’t say it wasn’t._

_What are you up to now?_

 

Louis runs himself a glass of cool water from the sink and curls onto the couch with his phone. The living room is dimly lit by a single lamp, and the flat feels very still in the dark. Louis runs his thumb up and down the side of his phone and considers how much he should let on.

 

_Louis  
10:37 pm_

_Suffering some drunk texts from Nick . have you gotten any ?_

 

_Harry  
10:39 pm_

_Yeah, something about Dave Hamilton the Ally?_

_10:42 pm_

_What did Nick text you?_

 

Louis isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t really want to bare his soul, and he doesn’t want to bother Harry while he’s studying, either, but he does want the company. He must spend a moment too long deliberating over how to answer that, because his indecision is interrupted by the buzz of an incoming call.

He answers quickly, wondering if he should feel guilty about distracting Harry. 

“Hey, Lou,” Harry’s voice says, quiet, “what’s up?”

Louis shrugs, even though Harry can’t see. “Nothing much, really. Just wanted a bit of company. It’s alright if you’re busy,” he adds quickly, “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your books.”

Harry laughs. “Nah, I don’t mind the break. Trust me.” His voice sounds even deeper across the wires. Louis’s fingers pluck at a loose thread on his socked feet, curled under him. “Did Nick...like, say something in particular?” He sounds slower, too, words strung out across the line, but that might just be the hours of studying behind him.

“Why, worried he’ll spill your darkest secrets?”

Harry laughs again. “Haven’t got secrets.”

“Everyone’s got secrets,” Louis says lightly.

Neither of them says anything for a moment. It’s not really that late, but Louis’ head feels heavy, as if the dim light is making him more tired. He can see his reflection in the sliding glass door to the dinky balcony, and he looks small and translucent. Harry sounds exhausted, and Louis should probably not trouble him.

“He was talking about the ‘ _A’_  again,” Louis confesses. “For ‘ally,’ I gather.” He flips his phone to his other hand and turns, so his back is against the arm of the couch, and his knees are pulled up to his chin. “I’m not really sure, it wasn’t super legible.”

“Drunk texts rarely are,” says Harry sagely.

Louis snorts. “Thank you, Harold, for that fact of the day.”

“So it was...the usual?”

“I dunno,” Louis worries at the piping on the couch pillow with his free hand. “I stopped checking my texts from him.”

Harry makes a sympathetic sound. “You know I’m here, if you ever want someone to help you, right? Help you tell Nick. About the - being asexual. I’ve tried telling him what it means,” Harry sounds frustrated.

“I know,” Louis assures him. “Thanks.” They’re both speaking quietly, even though Louis’ alone - and if Niall’s out, chances are Zayn will be, as well.  

“I shouldn’t be bothered,” Louis begins again, after a long pause. “Like, I know he doesn’t get it. It shouldn’t come as any kind of surprise.”

“No, that’s not right,” Harry tells him, sounding mildly upset. “He needs to respect - I mean, completely apart from you, whether or not he knows someone who identifies a certain way, he has to respect those identities.”

“Try telling him that,” Louis laughs without humour, before he can think better of it. “Try telling him again.”

Harry makes a frustrated noise. “I-”

“I’m sorry - I know.” Louis says again, and because it bears repeating, “Thank you.”

Harry sighs down the line. “I wish he wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, same. But - I should talk to him. I need to talk to him.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Lou,” Harry says, an offer.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Louis stretches his legs out and exhales, and the knot of frustration in his chest loosens. “So, Harold. Will I see you at Niall’s party tomorrow?”

They chat easily for a little while after that, about nothing important, the banalities of university life and campus drama, Harry’s business and philosophy double major. Harry begs off at around midnight like an old man, but at least Louis’ chest feels lighter when they hang up.

 

++

 

Louis wakes up slowly on Saturday morning, feeling refreshed and weirdly content, and spends nearly an hour dicking around on his phone before he hauls himself out of bed and into the living room. There’s a note on the fridge in Liam’s unmistakably appalling writing,  _low on milk, your turn for_   _grossries_   _\+ to clean the drying rack thanks._  There’s a Nick asleep on the couch, too. Louis hardly casts a glance to either the couch or the note. He sets the kettle on, grabs the eggs and bacon from the fridge, and does what he can to produce something edible. He’s quite pleased how it turns out, actually, the bacon only  _slightly_  burnt. The fire alarm doesn’t go off at all, which might be a record.

Louis remembers to cover the eggs in the pan with a plate, and munches on bacon strips while he sets about making two cups of tea, because he absolutely refuses to keep the instant coffee Nick keeps trying to hide on the top shelf. He even makes Nick’s tea extra milky, though he draws the line at adding any sugar. It feels a bit like a sign of forgiveness for last night, though Nick doesn’t even know he’s done wrong. After the talk with Harry, in the light of day and with a full night’s sleep behind him, Louis feels infinitely better about everything.

He actually considers letting Nick wake up on his own, but Louis’ never claimed to be patient. He’s not a  _saint_. He swipes a last strip of bacon and heads into the living room.

“Up you get, you great lug.”

The ratty blue futon is stained, and it smells a bit rank when the weather’s damp, but the seat is quite low. Optimal kicking height. Louis takes advantage of this whenever he can, and he gives Nick a sharp kick in the knee now.

Nick mutters something that sounds like  _fugough_  and shoves his face into the couch pillow. His hair is all sticking straight up on one side, it looks awful. Louis considers giving Nick a couple more minutes to wake up, so he can pop to the toilet and hide all the hair products.

He’s hungry, though.

Louis reaches over Nick and pulls at the top of the futon foam. It’s a bit hard to get a good grip on it, but he’s able to tug it down and fold it over Nick well enough that he can hop on top, without having to worry he’ll get speared by Nick’s bony elbows. He kicks his feet a bit, heels colliding with bits of Nick where he’s sandwiched between the foam.

Nick splutters awake, spewing half-formed but highly imaginative insults. Louis bounces a little.

“ _Wretched buggering tit_ ,” Nick says emphatically as he finally wriggles out from under Louis. “You weigh an absolute ton, did you know,” he gripes, putting a hand through his hair.

“Nice ‘do,” says Louis.

Nick doesn’t even answer except to offer Louis a sleepy two-fingered salute. He’s already turning towards the kitchen and the smell of food. “Did Liam make something?”

Louis makes an affronted noise and trails after. “I’m not  _that_  hopeless in the kitchen, I make pasta and baked beans all the time.”

“Not together, I hope.”

Louis ducks around Nick in the door to the kitchen and swipes the last strip of bacon from the plate. He pinches it between two fingers and dangles it at Nick. “Last slice. D’you want it?”

Nick narrows his eyes. He glances between Louis and the bacon, probably trying to weigh the situation.

“You can have it,” Louis offers, very generously, as he’d been seriously considering just keeping it for himself. “ _if_ ,” he provides, “you admit that I’m a decent cook.”

Nick looks highly skeptical. “Don’t get smug, you’re decent at  _best_.”

“Ahah, but you’ll admit that I  _can_  cook!” Louis crows,  _decidedly_ smug. He digs with his free hand into his back pocket for his phone. “Only counts if you say it on camera,” he tells Nick, unlocking it awkwardly with his left hand. This is starting to become a pattern, he realizes - phones being tied to his culinary repute.

“You’re a dirty cheat,” Nick says accusingly, and he shifts towards Louis. He freezes when Louis raises his eyebrows and lifts the bacon towards his own open mouth. “No, hang on - alright, alright, fine, press record, let’s get this over with.”

Nick waits for the little  _plink_  to announce the start of the camera rolling. “Should I repeat after you?”

“We are gathered here today,” says Louis, “to recognize my immeasurable culinary ta-  _fucking shit, Nicolas,_ ” Louis breaks off as Nick makes a lunge across the kitchen.

Louis leaps backwards and bumps into the counter behind him, completely forgetting to factor in the drying rack.

The unfortunate thing about a student flat - that is, a flat without a dishwasher - is that a drying rack tends to fill up quite quickly and winds up quite precariously stacked. And naturally, when jostled, all of the dishes and cookware and things stacked up - rather than clattering onto the counter or into the sink beside them - tumble towards the floor.

Louis drops both his phone and the bacon strip as he scrambles to catch something before it hits the tiles, and nearly succeeds.

The silence once everything has clattered to the floor feels a lot longer than Louis knows it can be. Then it’s broken by - simultaneously - Nick shouting and Louis dropping the one item he  _had_ managed to catch.

“Tomlinson, you absolute,  _bloody_  idiot,” Nick yells, and then a stream of other probably useless nonsense. Louis lifts his palm, feeling oddly detached, and all he can think is that Nick’s right -  _bloody_  is exactly what he is. “Why on earth would you try to  _catch the knife_?” Nick is gesticulating wildly, looking anywhere but at the stained palm of Louis’ hand.

Liam will be pissed when he gets home, there’s blood on the floor now. By some miracle there’s no broken glass at all, though, so at least there’s that. “I wasn’t trying to catch the knife,” Louis says reasonably, “I was trying to stop things falling.”

“Sharp things. With your hand.”

“How was I supposed to know they’d be sharp?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nick throws his hands up, “possibly because we are in a  _kitchen_ , and that was a rack full of  _kitchen utensils._ Utensils such as, among other things, plates, forks, saucepans, and  _knives._ ”

Nick’s getting himself rather worked up, Louis’ honestly starting to feel a little concerned for him. “It’s alright, Nick, just - calm down a bit, I’ll live. It’s fine.”

“Did you manage to hit your head as well?” Nick reaches out a hand for Louis’ injured one. Louis pulls away, cradling it, as casually as possible, against his chest. “That needs to be looked at by a doctor.”

Louis barks a laugh. “No way, not a chance, Nick. It really isn’t that bad. Slap a plaster on, it’ll be fine.”

Nick’s already crouching, reaching for Louis’ phone on the floor, though. Louis doesn’t want to spend a day in emergency, so he reaches out at the same time. The movement pulls at the skin of his palm, and he can’t bite back the whimper that escapes him. Pain stabs all the way up to his shoulder, deep and weird.

“Nick, please,” Louis tries, kneeling down and reaching out his uninjured hand this time. Nick’s already tapping at the screen, and Louis makes a note to change the pin soon. “It’s definitely not worth our entire day. I don’t want to be in ER for the next twelve hours, do you?”

“Oh, no, you’re right. I’ll just let you bleed out, then.” Nick drops the phone with a clatter that makes Louis wince, and stands up. “Have a nice day, bye, love,” he says, actually walking backwards. Louis lets him. There’s no way he’d actually leave Louis like this.

Nick makes it as far as the door before giving in. He stops and rubs both hands across his face, and then strides back and kneels down beside Louis, landing a bit hard on his knees.

“You’re an absolute terror,” Nick tells him as he takes Louis’ injured hand, but he’s very gentle. “A plaster, for God’s sake, it’s the palm of your hand. I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure you need to be able to use that, your hand.”

Louis sniffs. “I’ll be careful, then.”

“Like hell you will, come on. Louis, come on. A plaster isn’t going to cut it.”

“I should hope not,” says Louis haughtily.

Nick doesn’t laugh. They engage in a brief staring contest. Nick breaks it first to look down at Louis’ hand, pushes Louis’ fingers open to get a good look. He’s gentle about it, but the movement sends another sharp spike of pain shooting up Louis’ arm, and he snatches his hand back with a small, hurt noise.

“Sorry, sorry,” says Nick quickly, as Louis breathes out shakily.

“Nick,” says Louis, quietly, “could you just call Zayn for me?”

Nick frowns. “He’s only in pre-med,” he says, but he picks up the phone anyways and clicks through.

Louis shifts from his knees to his bum, and leans back against the cupboard as Nick talks to Zayn. He cradles his hand back to his chest. There’s blood on his shirt, he realizes, when he looks down. He’s still in his sleep clothes, though, so it could’ve been worse.

His whole arm hurts, a deep, throbbing ache. It feels like it cuts right to the marrow. Louis can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he blinks a bit to will them away. His hand  _hurts_.

He looks up when Nick ends the call. “What’d he say?”

“Said you’re a fucking idiot,” says Nick, standing and casting about until he finds the roll of paper towels. He rips off a few sheets, bundles them up and passes them to Louis. “Apply pressure. Where’s your first aid kit?”

Louis allows himself a small, satisfied smile. “Just under the sink, there,” he tells Nick, watching as he goes in and roots through the cupboard.

“This is a mess, Louis,” Nick gripes. There’s a clatter or something falling, but then Nick makes a triumphant noise and emerges with the little blue kit.

One bottle of disinfectant, a wet wipe, two plasters and an obscene about of gauze later, Louis’ hand looks more like a paw, but Nick sits back, satisfied. They’re still surrounded by kitchenware, there’s a bloody knife on the floor by Louis’ knee and bloody bits of paper towel and a smeared glob of neosporin on the tiles because Nick wanted to use half the bottle.

“Zayn should be over in a few now,” he says, pushing aside a pan so he can sit more comfortably. When he does, he reveals the slice of bacon underneath that’d started this whole mess.

“Nick,” Louis points, feeling laughter bubble up.

“What? Oh, the bloody  _bacon_ ,” he says, scowling down at it. For some reason, this only makes Louis laugh harder, and then Nick joins in, and they’re helplessly laughing on the kitchen floor surrounded by bloody tissue and cookware.

That’s how Zayn finds them a few minutes later when he lets himself in. He takes one look at them and sighs. He doesn’t even say anything, just shakes his head as Louis’s laughter redoubles. It’s mostly hysterical, at this point. There’s nothing particularly funny about the situation.

Zayn has to kick a few pots and pans out of the way before he can kneel down beside them with his own first aid kit, as Louis gasps for air and tries to calm down.

Zayn takes Louis’ hand and turns it palm-up, and the fresh spike of pain does wonders for Louis’ fit of hysterics.

“Ouch, be careful!”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, not sounding very sorry. “This is a terrible job,” he tells Nick as he starts to unwrap the gauze.

“We’re not doctors,” Louis protests, because it’s not very fair of a med student to go about judging civilians for their sub-par knowledge of first-aid, and he tells Zayn so.

Zayn doesn’t even respond, just snorts softly and pulls what looks like a sheet of long strips of tape from his kit.

“Nick thought I’d need stitches. Are you really just going to tape me up?”

“Yeah, basically. Steri strips,” Zayn says, waving the sheet. “If you won’t take stitches, these are the next best thing.”

“I’d take them from  _you_ ,” Louis lies, “I’d just rather not spend the entire day in a waiting room, thanks.” He hisses as Zayn presses both sides of the cut together.

“See, Louis, even the professional here thinks you need stitches.”

Zayn’s eyes flick up. “D’you want me to grab a needle, then? I’m hardly a professional, but I could definitely try. Can’t be too hard, right?”

Louis gives a full-body shudder. “Don’t even joke, Zayn.” He watches in unsettled fascination as Zayn presses a bit of tape perpendicular across the cut and snips off the long end with a tiny pair of scissors, taking the free piece of tape to the next spot along Louis’ palm, a few millimetres on.

“No, I think you should try,” Nick argues. “Look, we both know Louis. He’s not the brightest, right?” Louis makes an affronted noise, which gets intercepted by a noise of pain as Zayn pulls a bit at the cut. “I just don’t know if tape’s going to cut it, he’ll probably tear it off, or lose it, or something.”

Louis glares. “I can keep my hand in one piece.”

Nick looks pointedly down at the injury.

“Under normal circumstances,” Louis stresses.

“I think I’m gonna have to agree with Nick, mate,” Zayn says, reaching for the roll of gauze. He wraps it up quickly and neatly, much better than Nick did.

“ _Thank_  you."

“We’ve got health care. Use it next time,” Zayn advises, patting Louis’ wrist. “All done. Be careful with that, don’t flex it too much, and take care in the shower. Don’t strain the cut, basically.”

Louis nods. He twists his hand around a bit, testing his flexibility. He should still be able to type, but maybe he can milk this to get some poor sod to lend him their notes, and skip a few lectures.

He and Nick manage to convince Zayn to stick around for the afternoon, “in case it opens up again,” Louis argues (“In case Louis tries to cut off his hand again,” Nick mutters). They play a bit of FIFA, for all of a round and a half, because Louis realizes very quickly that he can’t play with bandages. Before boredom can really set in, though, Zayn gets a text from Harry asking which cupboard he put the turmeric in, and they wind up inviting Harry to come over.

The first thing he says when he walks in is, “You didn’t tell me you and Niall were neighbours!” as Niall closes the door behind them.

“You found him!” Louis crows. “I’ve been looking for him.”

“You were?” Niall laughs, kicking his shoes off and throwing himself onto the couch.

“Last night. I stopped by, but you weren’t home.”

Zayn and Niall exchange a glance that says all Louis needs to know. “Right, of course. Should’ve gone by yours, Harry.”

“We weren’t at home,” Zayn starts, and Louis waves him off.

“No need to rub it in for all the rest of us. You’re very romantic, we know.”

Niall cackles. Zayn smirks and perches himself on the arm of the couch by Niall’s head. He lands a hand in Niall’s hair almost unconsciously. It’s a bit sickening.

“Well, now you can all help to keep me entertained in my weakened state.” Louis gestures broadly, and suddenly there’s new attention on his bandaged hand.

“Maybe being infirmed for a while will teach you not to go around grabbing naked blades,” Nick says snidely.

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Louis, what happened?”

Louis levels him with a serious look. “Stigmata.” Zayn snorts.

Harry looks like he wants to smile, too, and it’s conflicting with his deep concern. “No, really.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Don’t believe me? It’s only in progress, but mark my words, it’ll be my left hand next.”

“It had better not be.” Nick shoots Louis his Serious Business look, the one he usually reserves for scared first-years volunteering at the radio. “Zayn didn’t tell you? Louis tried to stop a knife from falling, with his hand.”

“I had to come play ER nurse,” Zayn supplies.

“He  _what_?” Harry looks aghast.

Louis rolls his eyes. “I tried to stop the dish rack from falling, and there happened to be a knife.” He hopes this doesn’t turn into one of those things that keeps being brought up forever, it was a perfectly natural response. “I’m fine now, anyways.” He waves his hand to demonstrate.

“You’re right-handed,” Harry points out.

“Not to worry, Harry, I type most of my class notes.” He wiggles his fingers to demonstrate his continued dexterity.

“The real issue is what you’re going to do in the shower,” Nick says, raising his eyebrows and making a lewd gesture. Harry, bless him, glances over at Nick before fixing Louis with a slightly patronizing expression of concern.

Louis smirks back, every bit as suggestive as Nick, and waves his left hand cheerfully. “It’s just good practice,”he says lightly, “keeps me balanced.”

He can’t help but watch for Harry’s reaction. He knows there’s a line between attraction and action, he’s consciously aware of this, but he doesn’t want  _Harry_ to think his identity’s any less valid. If he likes to get off that’s his business, and nothing to do with his sexual orientation, but he’s not sure Harry knows that. And there’s that niggling doubt again, the feeling that he might not really know himself…or he might be too blind to recognize what everyone else sees so easily.

Harry joins in with the other boys’ laughter, gives no visible sign of judgement. Louis lets out a breath.

Of course Nick has to be the one to go and ruin it. “Maybe you’ll just have to find someone to lend a hand,” he leers, leaning close like they’re conspiring. And Louis’ knows they’re still joking, but that doesn’t really help.Yesterday suddenly catches up with him.

“But exercise is important!” Harry cuts in, a little too quickly. Louis could have held his own. “You need to make sure you’re, like, symmetrical.” He waves his hands a bit, as if to demonstrate.

“Sex is plenty of exercise,” Nick argues. Niall hoots in agreement, and Zayn nods sagely.

“But does it keep you balanced?” Harry pushes, grinning like he’s trying to keep serious and failing miserably.

“I don’t think you have a great understanding of muscular imbalance,” Zayn tells him.

This launches a long debate on something about physical activity and sex - Louis’ not sure he follows, but Zayn seems as lost as he is, if a lot more judgmental of their understanding of physiology.

It’s the middle of the term, so they should probably all be studying today, but the afternoon goes on and by the time anyone acknowledges that they’re currently in school, it seems too late to bother going home and pulling out the books. Louis brings out some cheap beer, instead, committing them all to defeat.

 “So, Louis, when are you gonna be on the Breakfast show?” asks Niall, when Louis emerges from the kitchen. Louis’ caught off-guard, he’d forgotten about his vague promise to guest.

“The what?” Harry looks confusedly between the two of them as Louis settles himself on the carpet.

“The Breakfast Show!” Nick clasps a hand to his heart. “With Nick Grimshaw. My weekly radio show, you told me you listened religiously!”

“I do,” Harry protests. “But it’s on at four pm. Why would it be called the breakfast show?”

“I’ve called it that  _on air_ , Harry.”

“It must not have registered, since it  _doesn’t make any sense_.”

“Told you,” Louis crows from the floor.

“It’s ironic,” Nick says with a long-suffering air.

 _“Ironic,_ ” Louis mutters.

“Also,” Nick goes on, more loudly, “it’s a play on the gay stereotype. Late brunches, and all that.”

“We celebrate the first and last show every term by going to brunch after,” Louis tells him. “You should come next time.”

Harry sits forward, eyes bright. “Sounds great, I definitely will.”

Zayn snorts. “So you’re inviting Harry, but I’m not a dedicated enough fan? That’s how it is?”

“You hardly listen!” Nick looks mildly offended. “Groupies only at this event.”

Louis considers intervening as Zayn opens his mouth to speak again. Harry’s eyes widen as he says, “Haz’ only caught the past three-” he’s cut off by Harry’s hand slapped hurriedly across his mouth, but the damage is done.

Niall laughs, and Nick turns accusatory eyes on him. “Did you know this?”

“Well, yeah, didn’t realize you hadn’t known.”

Zayn stares pointedly at Louis until Nick’s glare follows, and he narrows his eyes. “Louis?”

Zayn is a filthy traitor. “Not my responsibility to keep your listeners up, is it?”

“Actually,” says Nick, “as my number one fan, I think it is.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s what I am."

“Oh, don’t play coy.”

Louis raises his hands. “I think it’s a bit shit, actually,” he says frankly, “I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I know they’re delicate.”

Nick looks outraged. “I would threaten to stab you,” he says, “but you don’t seem to need my help with that.”

That’s a low blow. “Low blow, Grimshaw. And I didn’t stab myself. I  _got cut_ , entirely different.”

“Good as,” Zayn mutters treacherously.

“Oi, hold on,” Louis protests, “I thought it was  _Nick_  we were ganging up on.” This is  _completely_ unjustified. Louis, as an invalid, ought to be treated with a little more respect, he thinks.

“Nah,” Niall chuckles, “it’s just you that likes to pull his pigtails.”

“What,” Louis throws out, in case they’re onto him, “how do  _you_  flirt?” Niall looks down at Zayn, and they exchange an...intense look. Louis regrets. “Oh, forget I said anything.” When he looks around the room, though, it seems like Nick and Harry have managed to completely ignore the exchange. So Louis’ safe, for now, at least.

 

++

 

Harry corners Louis in the bathroom when the other boys have dispersed to try and get things all set up for Niall’s party. Louis doesn’t even notice Harry come in, bent close to the mirror trying to get his gelled hair  _just right_.

Louis startles when Harry clears his throat, and he winds up with a weird tuft of hair sticking out sideways.

“Harry. Hi.” He glances over briefly before turning back to fix his reflection. “D’you need the toilet? Gimme a second-”

“Actually, was wondering if I could use the shower.”

“Of course, yeah. Help yourself to the shampoo.” Louis frowns at his hair. It’s very difficult to do his quiff one-handed, turns out.

“Need a hand?” Harry sounds vaguely amused, and Louis frowns at him, too. He slides the gel over, though, and leans back against the sink.

“Who’d have thought having only one hand would be so inconvenient?”

“You seemed pretty optimistic,” Harry comments, squeezing a moderate amount of gel onto his fingertips. “At least you’re set for… showering.” He raises his eyebrows a bit, but doesn’t hold Louis’ eyes. His fingers drag through Louis’ hair.

Huh. “Well, not sure how I’ll wash my hair properly,” he admits. “But the important stuff, yeah.”

Harry snorts, and then immediately glances down to check Louis’ expression.

Louis’ lips quirk. “You can ask.”

Harry actually - he  _blushes_ , just slightly, and his mouth twitches like he’s fighting the impulse to smile. “I mean, ‘s not really my business,” he mumbles, attention fixed on Louis’ hair. He’s not even doing much, now, just playing with the edges of it. It feels nice.

“Attraction isn’t the same as practise,” Louis says lightly. He fights the flicker of nerves he gets at talking about this, because Harry might think that enjoying orgasms counts as a smear on Louis’ ace cred, or something. “My sex drive is perfectly functional, Harold. It’s just not driven by anything specific. Not that there's anything wrong,” he adds, “with having low libido.That's also cool”

“Oh. That makes sense, yeah.” Harry steps back and admires his work. “So, it’s not about libido, right? It’s really just orientation.” He’s frowning like he’s just had some kind of revelation.

Louis can’t hold back a laugh. “Yep. Exactly.” He turns to inspect his hair. “Good job, thanks. I’ll leave you to your shower, then.”

“Thank  _you_ , that was really enlightening,” Harry says, shutting the door as Louis leaves. And that’s satisfying, being treated like someone who’s got authority on the subject.

He heads straight down to Niall’s after that, helping to set out a few drinks and move the couch over to the wall so people can dance. People have started to filter in, and by the time he next catches sight of Harry, the party’s in full swing.

Harry sidles up to him in the middle of a conversation with a couple of wide-eyed first years. He’s carrying two fruity pink drinks, and he presses one into Louis’ empty hands.

“Thanks, Haz,” says Louis, and the first-years’ eyes grow even wider as Harry presses warm and solid into Louis’ shoulder.

Louis thinks Harry might be wearing lipstick. He’s pretty and funny and, god, Louis’ irritating  _himself_. Harry stands firmly in aesthetic-only attraction zone, but that’s sometimes a difficult thing for Louis to remind himself. They're joined at the hip for most of the party, but even when they're not, Louis finds his eyes drawn to Harry across the room.

Nick sidles up at one point when Harry's off chatting with someone from his art history lecture. Louis doesn't notice at first, distracted by the attractive slant of disrupted light on Harry's cheekbones across the room. Nick announces his presence with a sharp elbow to Louis' ribs.

"Oi - watch it," he bites, "those wouldn't be allowed on an airplane."

Nick plasters his bony self along Louis' side. "See something you like?"

Something in his tone makes Louis whip his head round to look at him, and he finds Nick glancing between him and Harry, eyebrows raised suggestively. "You should go for it. I don't think Harry would say no."

"Go for what," Louis says without inflection.

"Oh, don't play innocent," Nick smirks. Louis prickles.

"It isn't like that, back off."

Nick looks a little taken aback at Louis’ waspish tone, but he’s never one to back down from confrontation.

"I think the lady doth protest a fair bit." He wraps a chummy arm around Louis' shoulder and only squeezes tighter when Louis tries to shrug him off. "Nothing wrong with having a bit of a fling with your friend. Could even bring you closer!"

Louis knows Nick's only saying this because he knows it'll piss Louis off, but it's working. "Right, of course, no friendship's complete without a bit of sex on the side, yeah?"

Nick just laughs. "See, you're catching on! Just go over, bring him another drink - maybe a little stronger than that," he eyes the bright blue cooler in Louis' hand, "and have at!"'

Louis jerks himself out of Nick's grasp and scowls at him. "Let it go, Nick. I'm not interested."

Suddenly, Nick surges forward, boxing Louis up against a table. The backs of his thighs jostle against the edge, and a bit of his drink slops onto his hand. Louis’ breath catches at the proximity and he thinks viciously  _compulsory sexuality_  before he realises that, no, it’s something more like fright.

"It's not 'cause he's a boy, is it? Listen, don't think I haven't noticed, alright?"

With a sinking feeling, Louis thinks he can guess at what Nick's talking about. "Noticed what?"

"When I get talking about queer activism - I know you support it, okay? I know that. But I know you're not comfortable with it." Nick's pushing right into Louis' space, eyes intense, and Louis' personal bubble has just gotten much stricter. "Is this because it'd be gay?"

Louis bites down hard on the inside of his cheek as anger and frustration wells up in him, at Nick and at himself for not being able to open his stupid mouth, for not being able to use the words sitting on the tip of his tongue,  _fuck off, I'm not on your Kinsey scale at all, you ignorant oaf_. What comes out instead, with all the venom he can muster, is, "I don't give a fuck about Harry's cock. That's  _it_ , Nick. I'm just not interested, get that through your thick skull." He pushes Nick off before he can answer. Nick goes surprisingly easily, and Louis doesn't stick around. As soon as he's out he shoulders his way thoughtlessly through the crowd. Nick doesn't follow. He does take Nick’s advice on one thing - he grabs a half-empty bottle of whisky from the table as he stalks off.

Why does he like Nick? Times like this he wishes he didn't. Nick’s funny, and they can talk forever, and it's easy and it's good and he's got a nice face, sometimes Louis wants to lean in and-

But he's a humongous dick.

Louis makes his way across the room and winds up by Niall's door, surrounded by people who he can recognize but can't name. He stands there awkwardly for a minute, but he doesn't feel much like injecting himself into a conversation, so he opens Niall's door and slips through. He makes a beeline for the fire escape. It's a struggle to pull open the window, and the wind that comes through is biting. Louis snags a jumper off the floor and crawls outside.

Harry finds him there eventually. His nose and toes are freezing, but the fresh air feels nice and the whisky burns a trail of heat down his throat. The sounds of the party are muffled.

Harry plops down beside him and holds out a drink, this one a vibrant green. Louis shakes his head and holds up his whisky with a humourless smile. His hands are getting cold on the bottle, so he takes a swig and then wedges it between his thighs.

"Everything alright?"

Louis shrugs. "Got a bit stuffy in there," he lies.

"You're not missing much. Someone dared Liam to take his shirt off for something, and now there's a bunch of shirtless men doing a line dance."

Whoever's in charge of music has been on a Beyoncé kick for the past five songs. Louis snorts. "Go on, get back in there, then. Don't want you to miss out."

Harry just slumps into Louis' shoulder. He's found a sweater, too, probably Niall's as well. "Nah, they're all straight. Alright to look at, but there's nothing much to get out of it."

"Is it only worth looking if you'll get something from it, then?"

"There are nicer things I could be looking at."

Louis sneaks a glance at Harry and tells himself he's not wondering where Harry's looking. He's staring out across the way, but he turns to meet Louis’ glance and holds it. He’s smiling, eyes lit with the reflection of the city lights.

“S’that Niall’s sweater?” Louis asks, for something to say. It's definitely small on Harry.

“So’s yours,” Harry laughs.

“I wasn’t judging!” Louis holds up his hands, grinning. He rests his forearms on the bar of the fire escape. Harry mirrors him, resting his head on his arm.

“Everything alright?” He asks a second time, and Louis breaks his gaze. 

A loud cheer erupts from inside. A car drives by in the lane below. Louis watches it pass before he says anything.

“Got in a bit of a fight with Nick. Nothing big.” The metal under his hands is cold.

“What about?”

Louis shrugs. “Was just being a twat. The usual.”

 There's a pause. "You or him?" 

Louis lets out a surprised laugh. “Him, of course. I’m an absolute saint.”

“Right,” says Harry, drawing it out skeptically.

Louis fumbles between his thighs for his drink and takes another swig. Harry says nothing, maybe waiting to see if Louis will elaborate. He doesn’t particularly want to.

Or maybe he does. “He wanted to talk about friends with benefits. Or something. I dunno, casual sex. And like,” Louis takes another swig, “It shouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“It’s okay to be upset when he does things that make you feel… invalidated.” Harry shifts closer to Louis, warm legs pressed side by side. “That’s completely justified.”

“Everyone else sees sex as something so normal.” That comes out louder than Louis meant it to, frustration fuelling his voice. “It’s so natural to them, they can’t imagine why someone wouldn’t  _get it_. And here I am,” he swallows harshly and doesn’t continue the thought. Instead he drops his head to his forearms and stares at his lap.

Harry doesn’t say anything at first, just leans closer. He’s warm. Louis just wishes he would say something. Offer some kind of input so Louis doesn’t feel like he’s talking into the void. He’s spilling his  _soul_ , here.

After an age, he speaks. “That must be really hard. I’m sorry.” Louis closes his eyes. It’s nice of Harry to acknowledge this, but not super helpful. “There’s nothing - Lou, there’s nothing wrong with liking different things. It’s like, what was it Niall said? It’s like kinds of cake, right?”

“Not quite,” Louis says, but he laughs softly anyways, chest feeling a little looser. He turns to look at Harry properly again.

“No, like, some people have different taste, and that’s okay. I drink coffee, you can’t stand it. You like to put your milk first in your tea,” Harry makes a face, “and I think that’s really bizarre, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Tea preferences.”

“It’s the same,” Harry insists, but he’s fighting a grin.

He's ridiculous. Louis is too fond of him.

"Hey, like," Harry sits up a bit as if something's just occurred to him. He's trying very hard to keep a straight face. "You know, you put the "a" in "normal". There's no other letter from the queer acronym in there." He looks absurdly proud of himself, and Louis hesitates a bit to let him down.

"...L for lesbian, Harry."

Harry fishmouths for a second, mouths the word,  _lesbian,_  then bursts into a startled laugh. “Damn - yeah, you’re right.” He shakes his head at his own mistake. “S’what I keep you around for.”

“You’re welcome.” Louis titters.

Their laughter fades quickly into an easy silence. Harry’s the one who breaks it, a moment later. “So… er, can I ask… I mean,” he trails off, looking at Louis out of the corner of his eye.

Louis raises a brow. “Out with it,” he prompts.

“S’just, it might be a bit... insensitive, I don’t want to ask anything-”

“It’s fine.” Louis shakes his head, quirks a smile to prove it’s alright. “It’s not like you’ve got many other sources to ask.”

Harry frowns a bit, like he might disagree with that, and of  _course_ he’s the type to think it’s better to google the question than to trouble anyone who could answer in person. Normally Louis would find it a bit annoying, but on Harry it’s sort of sweet.

“What do you want to ask?”

“Was wondering if you’d ever - if you’ve ever done...things. Not, like,” he goes on quickly, “tried it, but.”

“Sure,” Louis says easily, “have done.”

“Really?” Harry sits back quickly and shuts his mouth as soon as he’s said it, as though he regrets the outburst.

Louis snickers. “Really.” He waits a beat, because he can, because Harry would let him leave it at that, and then goes on. “A couple girls in school, and then there was a boy in sixth form, too. We never really did much.”

“Did you know, then?”

Louis glances down. Harry kicks his legs into the open air off the fire escape, clicks his heels together. His eyes don’t leave Louis’ face.

“Not… really, no,” Louis begins, “I mean, I’d known I was-” he cuts off with a self-deprecating laugh. “ _different_ ,” he scoffs a little at how cliche he sounds, “since year six. Had already gotten my first kiss then, and then in year six, that was when all the other boys and girls started really to, like,” he casts around for a way to describe it. “There’d been dating, all that. But that was the year they started to mean it, I think.” Harry’s still watching him. It’s no wonder why so many people like him so much, he’s good to talk to. “So we’d see a film, or someone would smuggle in their mum’s magazines,” Louis laughed, “and they’d all be caught up talking about how  _hot_  the actresses were. And I didn’t get it.”

The noises from inside have gotten quieter, though Louis’ not sure when that happened. Neither of them say anything for a bit. Louis’ chest feels oddly free, as though something around it’s just come unlaced. He hadn’t realized that was an experience he’d wanted to talk about. Harry can untangle things inside of Louis that he hadn’t even realized were twisted up. He’s not sure if it’s because of Harry or because he’s finally got someone to talk to. Weirdly, it helps to talk it out, to lay out his feelings in real words.

“Was that when? When you knew.”

Louis laughs. “God, no.”

Harry’s eyes crinkle and he dimples and he looks so soft in the dim city light. Louis’ chest does something funny and he wonders what the line is between friendship and romance, when there isn’t anything physical to draw it. He pushes down the ever-present doubt, easy as habit.

“Took me years, actually. It’s not like being gay,” he tilts his head in a nod to Harry, “it’s not something you hear about at school, or like, on telly.”

Harry’s mouth makes a little  _moue_ , unhappy. Louis wants to wave off his pity, but he wants to answer the question first. “I heard of it on the internet, actually, going into college. Found this article on asexuality, and I guess it stuck with me.”

Harry hums. “S’lucky, isn’t it? It’s not a super common topic. I swear I only heard of it because all my friends in sixth form were wildly queer.”

“No joke. It’s very elusive.”

“You’re a rare breed, Louis.” Harry grins.

“Little-known species of animal, hovering close to extinction, but hanging on,” Louis affirms.

“Must be protected at all costs.”

“But there’s a conflict - this rare mammal is the natural challenger to another, larger species: hetero-normo sapiens,” Louis says in his best David Attenborough voice, as Harry dissolves into giggles. “Can they coexist? Or will the dominant species force these majestic creatures into extinction?”

“I think they’re pretty resilient, though,” Harry says, knocking Louis’ knee with his. “Small but mighty, right?”

“Oi, who’re you calling small?” Louis puts on his most grievously offended face. “I’m 5”9, I’ll have you know.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “That’s a filthy lie,” he says plainly.

“I think your perception is skewed. You’re always wearing heels, you’re just not a reliable judge.” Louis shakes his head sadly.

“Nick calls you short, too, and he’s not-”

“Nick is the filthiest liar in Europe,” Louis says promptly, “whether he wears heels or not.”

“Well, is there  _any_  reliable source we can ask?”

“Just me.” Louis punctuates this with a nod, and Harry’s trying to play serious, Louis can tell, because there’s that deep dimple at the edge of his smile.

“Ah, well, as the only reigning authority, I guess we’ll have to trust your judgement.”

“Dr Tomlinson,” Louis invents grandly, “resident specialist on imperial measurement.”

Harry laughs, burying his head in his arms, crossed over the rail. Louis’ thighs are starting to hurt where the edge of the metal platform digs in, and he’s probably got a grid imprint on his bum from sitting here so long. He’d be perfectly content to sit out here with Harry all night, but the sounds of the party have wound down, and the cold press of metal is starting to seep into his bones.

He opens his mouth to ask Harry if they should move inside when a loud  _clang_ rings out, and the stairs heave an almighty shudder.

Louis and Harry both jump. Louis’ first thought is that the fire escape is finally giving out, and they’re both about to go tumbling down with the rusting metal to a messy fate on the sidewalk. Then he hears a stream of good-natured swearing, and sighs in heavy relief.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Niall,” he says, turning, “nearly gave me and poor Harold here a heart attack!”

“Really, Niall,” Harry says, looking disapproving. He does it quite well, if Louis’ honest. “I could’ve slipped off the ledge.”

Niall squints a bit at them and puzzles that over. “How would you have done that?”

“I might have gone all limp in shock and slid under the bar,” Harry says. Louis gives him a patronizing pat on the knee and rolls his eyes at Niall, silently saying  _this one, what’ll we do with him?_

Niall cackles obligingly at Harry, and offers Louis a pointed look that might mean  _you’re the one that brought him_ , to which Louis can’t argue. But it’s Niall, so it might instead mean  _I’ve no clue what you’re trying to tell me_ , like that time with Nick and the swans in Hyde Park last spring. Louis’ learned his lesson since then, and no longer trusts what Niall is trying to convey through hard stares.

“Nick’s looking for you,” Niall says abruptly, apparently remembering what he’d come out for.

“Is he? What for?”

“Dunno, think he just wanted to know where you’d gone,” Niall says. “But it’s fucking cold, come inside.”

Louis can’t argue with that, so he looks at Harry and nods towards the window, and Harry shrugs, and they clamber to their feet and head back inside. As he’s crawling through the window, Harry’s concerned voice asks, “But - Niall, what was that clang?” But they’re both inside quickly, back on solid ground (as solid as Niall’s ancient wooden floors might be) and tugging the window closed again.

Niall switches on the light, finally, and Louis blinks in surprise. “So, party’s over?”

It is, as evidenced by the predictable wasteland of the living room once they emerge together. Zayn is sitting in the plush armchair by the television, looking at the mess as though contemplating whether or not he should do something about it. Louis follows the clattering sounds into the kitchen to find Liam elbow-deep in soapy water. He’s trying to convince Nick to help clear the dish-rack. Nick looks up quickly as they walk in, face hopeful as though expecting someone to relieve him.

“You called?” Louis walks into the kitchen and hoists himself onto a surprisingly clear bit of counter-top. It’s a bit sticky, and he lifts his hands quickly with a grimace.

“Hm? Ah - yeah, was wondering where you’d run off to.” He picks up a single can from the counter and walks it slowly to the bin.

Louis must have been gone longer than he’d realized, because Nick doesn’t look as drunk as he had been, but his hair is mussed and his eyes look a bit muzzy with tiredness.

“I was out on the stairs with Harry.” Louis gestures to where Harry’s stationed himself awkwardly by the door. He keeps shooting Louis looks, trying to be subtle. Louis ignores him. “How was the dancing?”

“Could one of you give a hand here?” Liam cuts in. Unlike Nick, Liam doesn't seem much more sober than he had been the last time Louis had seen him, but he gets oddly responsible when he’s drunk and usually expects everyone else to follow suit.

“‘S too late for that,” Nick waves him off. “Let’s all just go home.”

Liam turns to pin him with a look, dripping sudsy water onto the tiles. “You,” he says, pointing, “will not be going home. I know this. Because  _every time,_ ” he gestures broadly with his soapy hand, “you go out, for a night  _out_ , you wind up on  _our_  couch.” He swings around to look pointedly at Louis.

“It’s not my fault you live so centrally,” Nick says, shrugging.

“It  _is_  your fault you live so far, though,” Louis tells him haughtily, because he’s been saying for years that Nick ought to move.

It takes some wrangling, but they do manage to drag Liam away from the sink. Louis and Harry return their sweaters to Niall, and then there’s some discussion about who’s sleeping where: Zayn opts to stay with Niall, so it’s only fair that Harry stay the night as well, but neither flat in the building has the couchspace.

“I s’pose someone could share with me,” Louis offers, as casually as possible. He’s not honestly sure he’d sleep very comfortably with either Nick or Harry.

“In your little double? Nah,” says Nick, “we can share the futon, it’s plenty big enough for us both, eh, Harry?” He nudges Harry and wiggles his eyebrows a bit.

“Ooh, mister Grimshaw,” Harry says slowly, batting his lashes absurdly. “Voulez-vous couchez avec moi?”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Louis feels a weird twist of envy, though he knows it’s really for the best. It would probably be some kind of dishonest, he thinks, to snuggle up to your crush in bed. Louis’ feeling a little stuck. Between his simmering crush on Nick, the twat, and his budding  _thing_  for Harry (not a crush, it’s definitely not a crush), he’s definitely in for trouble.

 

++

 

 

The morning after is just a morning. They wake up slowly, and Louis pads into the kitchen to find a mountain of French toast just out of the oven (“‘S better in the oven,” Harry insists, laughing). Louis sits at the cramped kitchen table and knocks knees with Harry and kicks at Nick's feet a bit until they settle together comfortably. It tugs at something in Louis’ chest, this quiet comfortable domesticity.

Zayn brings Niall up not long after Louis comes in, without having to be told, because he and Harry share a flat.

Morning light spills blindingly across the living room and everything is good.

Conversation inevitably devolves into an argument about whether 1% milk is better than 2%, and Louis is horrified to learn that Harry – the heathen – sides with Nick in favor of disgustingly low-fat milk. It’s chaotic and familiar and easy, and this – right here, this is where Louis wants to be.

Niall mentions their plans to go out next weekend as he polishes off his seventh slice of toast, and Nick leans in interestedly.

“Oh,” Niall looks surprised, as if he’d forgotten Nick wasn’t a regular with them outside of Wednesday Chips Night. “Yeah, Louis’ found a club that’s eighty pence at the door, want to come with?”

“Did he? What a lad!” Nick looks delighted, naturally. It was a truly excellent find. “Yeah, I’d love to tag along.”

There’s something about how easy it all is that makes Louis rethink last night's concerns. Things between he and Nick are alright - and Nick’s a monster, but Louis loves him for it. And if his heart feels a little odd at how easily Nick and Harry both have become a part of Louis’ close circle – well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t even bother him when Liam asks privately what he and Harry got up to when they’d disappeared for a bit.

It's over dishes, and the lads are all gone, except for Harry in the living room pretending to gather up plates (Louis isn't fooled. He can hear the jaunty music from the cat game Zayn got him into), Liam raises his eyebrows and smiles knowingly. “Noticed you and Styles-y slipped away at the party.”

Louis raised his eyebrows and graciously lets the atrocious nickname slide. He shrugs easily. “Yep.”

“Good on you, Tommo,” Liam says brightly, nudging Louis chummily. “Did you score?”

Louis pauses in drying the plate he’s holding and fixes Liam with an odd look. Liam looks back brightly, almost...hopefully.

“Are you…” It dawns on Louis slowly. “Are you trying to be... supportive?”

Liam falters. “Well. Is it working?”

“Really?"

Liam frowns. “You never bring anyone home. But you know you could, like, if you wanted?”

“Did I score? Shagging isn't a sport.” Despite himself, Louis chuckles. “It's fine, Liam. I know you're down with the gays.”

Liam still looks a bit confused. “Isn't that-”

“Thanks, though,” Louis says, and Liam’s face smooths into a smile.

Not long after that, they give up on the dishes (it was always doomed; Sunday mornings are not meant for chores) and join Harry on the floor of the living room to get some schoolwork done. This mostly turns into Louis frowning unwaveringly down at the first page of this week’s experimental theatre reading, and Liam intermittently voicing complaints or comments on whatever he's got to work on for his education classes. Time drags. Louis can feel his head droop towards the floor, and he's still not made it past the third paragraph.

“Requiesromantic!” Harry shouts, suddenly, cutting Liam off. Louis is startled out of his frown.

“What?” He and Liam say, at nearly the same time.

“The R,” Harry says triumphantly to Louis. “Requiesromantic -” he fixes his attention on his computer screen. “someone that feels little to no romantic attraction due to some mental or emotional exhaustion, the exhaustions might have been caused by bad experiences of romance during that person's history,” he says, as if reading. “According to wikipedia,” he adds.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “That falls under aromantic,” he argues, “it hardly counts.”

“Does too,” Harry says childishly.

“Er, what are you talking about?” Liam cuts in, looking thoroughly confused. Louis freezes up a bit, glancing over at Harry.

Harry is looking at him, expression blank and expectant. Louis breathes in.

“Harry and I have been thinking of letters on the queer spectrum to spell ‘normal,’” Louis tells him.

Liam frowns, and Louis holds his breath for a probing question, but then Liam says, “Lesbian. Er, meterosexual?”

Harry bursts out laughing, and Louis can’t help but join in. “Not quite,” he says, as gently as he can, which is not very gently at all, especially as he’s still laughing.

Liam shrugs, unperturbed. “Well, what’ve you got?”

“Asexual,” Harry says immediately. “Requiesromantic - it totally counts,” he says, at Louis’ look, “lesbian…”

“You’re just missing the ‘m’ and ‘o’, then.” Liam looks momentarily thoughtful, then shakes his head. “Guess I can’t be much help. Don’t know any of the ones you just said, anyway.”

“The ‘n’, too,” says Louis.

“The first two fall under ace-aro,” Harry puts in, without looking at Louis. Liam looks a little lost, but he nods at Harry to go on. Louis sits back a little on the couch, and wonders if it would look too obvious if he pulled up his laptop again and pretended to study. “Asexual and aromantic,” Harry elaborates. “Lack of sexual or romantic attraction. Sometimes they come together, usually they’re used as umbrella terms, ‘cause they’re a spectrum. So, like, someone might not feel any sexual attraction at all, or they might feel… some… like, only occasionally, or if they’re really close to the other person. And it’s the same with aromantic, so you might have… like, one person might feel no romantic attraction but still feel sexual attraction, or they might only occasionally feel one kind, or both.”

Liam doesn’t look concerned or pitying or alarmed, which is a relief. He’s frowning, but it’s considering. He looks at Louis. “So,” he says, “is - is that how you, like, identify?”

Louis stares at him.

“Only because you always seemed a little uncomfortable - seem. You seem uncomfortable, when people talk about, like, sex.”

“Like, sex,” Louis parrots, as if they’re kidding around.

Liam waves it off. “You know what I mean.” He suddenly looks concerned. “Is that an alright thing to ask?” 

There’s a pause, during which Louis isn’t quite sure how to respond and Harry remains silent. Truthfully, it's not really okay, Louis thinks, but now that Liam’s asked it, the easiest answer is, “Yes. Yeah, I - yes.”

“Yes, it’s okay to ask, or-”

“I am asexual,” Louis clarifies, watching Liam closely for a reaction.

Liam blinks. “Okay.” He nods. “So...no scoring.”

Louis scoffs, which turns into a laugh as Harry looks on with a questioning eyebrow raise. Louis shakes his head at Harry and waves it off. “Dunno,” he tells Liam honestly, “I might, like, it's fun. Sex. But not really a priority for me.”

Liam nods, but his expression furrows. Feeling oddly at ease, Louis decides to elaborate.

Liam takes the explanations well, and Louis feels an obscure glow of pride. He's taught Liam well. By the time they finally shift their focus back to the books, he's fairly confident that Liam knows much more than Nick could imagine.

 

++

 

On Tuesday, Nick and Louis get lunch on campus, and Nick tells him about some new initiative he's launching to help queer first-years orient themselves around campus. Louis thinks a bit wistfully that he'd have liked something like that when he first showed up. He makes a note to pressure Harry into joining, so the kids might get a broader perspective.

By the time they leave Nick’s worked out most of the plans for kicking off the program, and Louis helps him brainstorm a bit more as they make their way towards the library. Louis’ about to suggest something about drawing up a map of all the gender-neutral bathrooms on campus when his eye catches on a t-shirt walking in the other direction. Louis twists his shoulders to stare as they walk past.

When he turns back, he realizes Nick’s not talking and is giving him the suggestively raised eyebrows. He doesn’t even say anything, just smirks at Louis.

“No,” says Louis, firmly as he can.

“You sure? Because it looked to me-”

“They were wearing a  _Marvel_ shirt. It was a neat design.”

“Nice hair,” Nick tries, casually.

Louis shrugs. “Didn’t notice.”

"Alright, not to be rude but what  _do_ you like?"

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Nick knows Louis’ said he likes men, in theory, but it’s not like Louis’ ever shown any real interest. Not as far as Nick knows, at least. A thought strikes Louis, suddenly - what if Nick thinks Louis is  _questioning_? He’s not. He knows who he is and what he likes, and somehow the idea that Nick might doubt that is jarring.

Louis shoots him a close-lipped smile. "Not to be rude, but I don't think that's any business of yours."

"Alright, alright," Nick backs off, raising his hands in mock surrender, laughing a little bit. It sounds more self-deprecating than anything, though. "You don't have to share. You don't have to know, for that matter. But if you're ever looking to talk to someone, I'm always here."

With a jolt, Louis realizes that this is it. He's suddenly, painfully aware that this is the moment he's been waiting for. The time to tell Nick exactly how he identifies, make himself clear.  _Louis Tomlinson, raging asexual._

Louis rolls his eyes and snorts a laugh. "Save it for the first-years, Nick."

 

++

 

Louis brushes past Harry and collapses face-first onto Harry’s bed the moment the bedroom door is open.

“Louis’ dropped by to see you,” Zayn calls from the living room.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry calls back, a smile in his voice.

A beat later, Louis feels the bed dip next to him.

“Alright, Lou?” Harry asks. A warm hand settles on the top of Louis’ spine, thumb brushing the nape of his neck. Louis lets out a muffled groan.

Harry sighs softly. There’s a rustle, and Harry shifting his weight until he’s lying down, though his hand doesn’t move. His fingers scritch Louis’ shoulder through his shirt. Louis doesn’t look up, just listens to Harry breathe quietly for a minute.

“Wanna talk about it?” Harry asks eventually.

Louis only hums, but after a few more slow breaths, he turns his head slightly to peek at Harry with one eye. “Told Nick I was a straight,” he mumbles into the duvet.

“What?” Harry frowns.

Louis shifts his shoulders a bit so he can speak more clearly. “I told Nick - I didn’t tell him I’m straight, actually, that’s a lie. He probably thinks I am, though.” The knot of frustration simmering in Louis’ chest twinges.

“I don’t think he’d jump to that conclusion,” Harry says placatingly.

Louis exhales loudly into the duvet and presses his face into it again. When he next speaks, he tilts his chin down so it’s clear of the blanket. “He asked me what I like,” Harry makes a disapproving  _tsk_ , “and said I could talk to him, if I wanted to, and I told him,” Louis sighs again, “I told him to save it for his first years.”

“Aw, Lou.” Harry’s hand migrates to Louis’ hair, which is a nice consolation prize. Even if Nick will always believe that Louis is just an ally, allo-, heterosexual.

“I am not a heterosexual,” Louis tells the bed.

“I know that,” Harry says, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Louis hums. “And Nick will find out someday. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Nick doesn’t believe in asexuality,” Louis reminds him.

“Nick doesn’t understand it. I didn’t know that gay was, like, a thing, until I was twelve. Look at me now.” Louis can’t help but laugh along, rolling his head to look at Harry again. Harry’s on his side, and his legs must be halfway off the bed because Louis knows his own feet are near the edge, but he’s lying there anyways with his fingers running through Louis’ hair, and if it were anyone else Louis probably would have swatted their hand away from his quiff. This is true love, honestly.

He feels a bit bad, so he shuffles his feet back to make room for Harry. It takes a bit of adjusting, and Harry nearly falls off the bed - he’s had one freakishly long leg braced against his desk to stay up - but they settle eventually with Louis’ knuckles tucked against Harry’s chest, and their knees brushing.

Suddenly, Harry sucks in a breath and his eyes go wide. "Omni!" 

"Pardon?"

He looks excited. "Omni, ‘s a bit like pansexual - we forgot the O," he looks at Louis expectantly. "In normal," he adds, when Louis doesn't immediately react.

It still takes him a second to clue in.

“Really, you’re still thinking about that?”

Harry snorts inelegantly. “It just came to me,” he protests.

Louis laughs. “Don’t lie. I know these things keep you up at night.”

Harry just huffs, soft smile lingering on his face. His eyes drift shut briefly. They share a moment of silence.

Louis feels warm and content, throat brimming with something pleasant. He exhales between them, and the feeling doesn’t change as his lungs sink. Clings to his ribcage, not quite the same as what he feels for Nick, but familiar enough. It’s no good.

“I, ah,” he whispers, and Harry’s eyes flutter open. Louis wets his lower lip and tries again, louder, to break the atmosphere, “I’ve got the ace hots for Nick.” Well. That’s one way to say it. Louis immediately wants to take back the phrasing.

Harry blinks slowly. “Have you?”

Louis swallows and wonders what made him spit that out in the first place. Voicing his crush on Nick won’t make this thing for Harry go away. Probably.

Louis nods. “It’s pretty bad.” Maybe he can confirm his feelings as monogamous if he refuses to verbalize anything else.

Harry studies him briefly. He sighs, so soft Louis nearly doesn’t hear it. “That’s rough, Lou.” His eyes melt with sympathy, and Louis gets the uncomfortable sense that Harry’s just connected a few dots as to why Louis gets so worked up about Nick’s ignorance. “We can talk about it, if you want…” he inches a bit closer and rubs his hand up and down Louis’ arm. Their knees jostle closer and his gaze bores into Louis and,  _shit_ , no, this is not panning out as Louis hoped.

“Nah,” he whispers, throat dry, “not really.”

 

++

 

Wednesday Chips Night is not so sacred that they avoid sensitive topics.

Nick is likely incapable of not being a twat at least once over the course of any outing , and especially when they’re out at Wednesday Chips Night, where everyone is Especially Queer, so it’s not really any kind of surprise – well, alright, it’s sort of Louis’ fault.

He really needs to stop expecting a different answer.

But he’s feeling a bit emboldened by Harry’s presence at his elbow, and he wants to talk about identity, and so he brings up queerness as not strictly attraction to the  _same_  gender; but as something outside of the binary straight-or-gay.

They’re sitting at their usual table by the window, even though there’s an awful draft this time of year. It’s an excuse for Louis to lean a little closer to Harry. Nick sits across from them, and down the bench sit a cluster of their usual friends, wrapped up in a conversation about Jade’s upcoming exchange or something.

Nick, predictably, looks skeptical. “How d’you mean?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “If you’re  _not_  exclusively heterosexual or romantic, then you’ve got to be queer."

Harry jumps in – “Just like how, like, being trans doesn’t mean you identify as the  _opposite_  side of the binary to how you’ve been assigned-” but Nick waves it off.

“So, what, asexuals? Is that who you mean?”

Louis tilts his chin up a fraction. “Asexual-aromantic spectrum. As opposed to allosexual or alloromantic people. That’s exactly who I mean.”

“You can’t be queer without the threat of  _social backlash_ , and asexual people don’t have to worry about being alienated like that, yeah?”

Harry frowns and says “I mean, even disregarding anyone who’s not hetero-romantic - not that you should, but there’s-”

Nick gives him an odd look, and Harry seems taken aback.

Louis feels sort of guilty, because he should have said something to Nick. He really should have mentioned the distinctions between sexual and romantic attraction, and aesthetic and all those. But he never really knew how to throw it in, so now it falls to Harry now, the allosexual, to give Nick a lecture on the intricacies of ace identity.

Harry opens his mouth, but Nick cuts him off before he can start. “How,” Nick asks, “can you be in love and never have sex? How’s that different from friendship? And,” he goes on, not waiting for an answer, “it’s nowhere near the same, your parents will - what, are they going to throw a fit because you introduce a bloke as your flatmate? Let’s be realistic.” That stings. Nick doesn’t stop there, either, “If you don’t want to kiss them,” ( _wrong, it’s not quite like that,_  thinks Louis), “you can’t be  _in love_  with them. You might love them, alright, fine. But you can’t cut that bit out.”

Louis feels like he’s shaking, and he leans into Harry a bit. He glances down at his hand on the table and lifts his fingertips but they’re steady as ever, not the slightest tremor. When he glances beside him, Harry’s face is frowning, and that somehow makes it worse.

Now they’re both upset, and it’s Louis’ fault for trying to bring it up at all.

And Nick - Nick looks as upset as either of them, hurt, like he’s the one who’s been offended.

The whole table’s gone quiet. It’s the usual sizeable crowd, tonight, but the conversation they were having down the bench has gone quite silent.

“No, listen,” Louis says firmly, “it’s not only social backlash. That’s the  _effect_ -”

“Now,” Nick says, “you can’t say social backlash isn’t part of it.” His tone is patronising, eyes narrowed meanly. “ _Social backlash_  is quite central, actually, to  _social prejudice_.”

Down at the far end of the table, Perrie and Jade excuse themselves, muttering something about getting the fries.

“That’s not what I said, Nicholas.” Pixie excuses herself to the loo, Aimee trailing off behind. “I said that social backlash is the effect, you dull lamppost, not that it was irrelevant. The cause is  _norms_. People only take these things badly because they think it’s weird,  _dill pickle_.” The name slips out with venom.

“There’s no backlash against things people don’t see, pumpernickel,” Nick scowls.

Louis’ breathing comes harsh. Down the table, Niall and Zayn sit uncomfortably on the bench and watch as though they want to interject but aren’t sure it’s their place. Behind the counter where Perrie and Jade are hovering, Liam keeps shooting concerned glances their way. Louis imagines he’s not sorry to be occupied right now. Louis feels a rush of embarrassment for all of them, and for the public spectacle he’s making.

“This is backlash right here!” Louis’ breath catches, and he wonders wildly if Nick might finally catch a hint.

He fixes his eyes on the corner of the table, suddenly very interested in the chipped red paint, or linoleum, or whatever they make tables of. He doesn’t want to see if any faces show signs of dawning understanding.

At the same time, though, maybe…

“Have I got some news for you!”

Louis actually jumps as a new person slams into the small chippy and sweeps up to the table.

“You won’t guess who’s got a girlfriend.” Ed slips in along the bench, oblivious to the tension (or maybe deliberately ignoring it), grinning brightly.

“Not you,” says Niall. If he weren’t Niall, Louis might think that was a bit mean after last year.

Ed laughs it off. “Taylor Swift,” he tells them, smiling like a mum sharing gossip.

“Taylor? Damn,” Jade says, appearing suddenly with two baskets of chips which she pushes down the table. “who with?”

Louis’ pretty sure he sees Perrie slip her phone out as the girls sit down. It’s possible she’s texting Pixie that it’s safe to come out again.

So conversation turns to pressing Ed for details and the mood lightens immensely, but Louis’ lost his appetite. The fries are pretty mediocre anyways. He doesn’t speak up much, either, not particularly inclined to engage right now. He feels tired.

Liam joins them a little while after Nick, and Louis sticks around long enough to chat with him a bit before making some excuse about schoolwork, “brutal project to finish, better head out…”

He gets a round of concerned eyes, and both Harry and Zayn (Louis shouldn’t be surprised about the latter, Zayn’s always been really perceptive) offer to leave with him.

(Nick looks a tad uncomfortable, and Louis feels a flash of petty satisfaction.)

Louis turns them both down.

He mostly just wants to be alone – but when he’s a few blocks away he gets two texts in quick succession, and he’s a bit of an attention whore. Sue him.

He’d love a bit of sympathy right now, if he’s honest.

There’s a text each from first Harry, then Zayn.

 

_Harold  
9:02 pm_

_you okay?_

 

 _Zayn_  
_9:04 pm_

_:/_

 

Louis texts them back quickly, phone etiquette be damned. And even though they’re both still at the chippy, he doesn’t have to wait long between replies. He keeps texting them as he walks home and then as he settles in the living room in front of his laptop. It’s comforting, having people to talk to. He’s lucky to have them.

 

++

 

Somehow (and Louis’ really not sure  _how_ ), Nick manages to wrangle Louis into agreeing to an actual date on the breakfast show. So one week in mid-November finds Louis trailing Nick into the studio for a tour. He’s been before, of course, but next week he’s going to be actually on air (apparently), so at Nick’s insistence he’s got to suffer through some instructions and introductions to the floor and the people on it.

Louis suspects it’s mostly just an excuse for Nick to avoid talking to Dave Hamilton while waiting for his airtime, because Dave volunteers with the school’s station on Friday afternoons. Louis half suspects he does it deliberately to antagonize Nick. He’s sitting at the cheap faux-wood filing desk as soon as they walk in, shuffling papers on the messy desk.

The lobby to the radio station is painted a drab hospital yellow. The lights buzz faintly and the linoleum tiles are perpetually grimy. Louis can’t fathom why Nick likes it so much, but he insists it’s got a great atmosphere.

Nick mutters darkly under his breath when he spots Dave there. Louis opts to ignore it - he’s probably heard it before. Dave’s sending equally dirty glares in their direction as Louis nudges Nick down the hall.

“Smug  _fucking ally_ ,” Nick mutters audibly as soon as they’re down the hall heading towards the studios. Louis’ grateful he waited till they were out of earshot, he hates getting caught in their stupid arguments. Nick guides them to a set of benches in the hall, confirming Louis’ suspicions that this isn’t actually a tour.

“He’s not so bad,” Louis says as he sits, and - well, he  _knows_  he’s asking for an argument, but. But Nick’s attitude has gotten under his skin and he can’t stop it bubbling to the surface, so he says, “Dave’s made a couple posts about asexual awareness week coming up. So I guess he’s not  _entirely_  confused about the acronym, yeah?”

Nick levels Louis with a not-particularly-impressed look. “ _Dave_? Don’t tell me you’re getting on with him now.”

“I would never,” Louis assures him quickly, placing a hand over his heart. “I couldn’t do that to you, pumpkin.”

He almost thinks he’s managed to skirt the argument, when Nick says, “So. Still on about ‘ace identities’?”

Louis tries to hide his reflexive scowl. “I’m not going to let it go.”  _It’s not a phase, Nick_ , he doesn’t say, because he’s not a rebellious teen and Nick’s not his mum (she’d taken it quite well, in fact).

“Look,” says Nick, and he sounds tired. Louis can sympathize. “I’m not saying it’s not a real thing, but  _they’re not attracted to the same gender_. That’s the whole  _point_  of being queer.”

It’s almost more infuriating to hear it put like that. And he just genuinely doesn’t seem to get why Louis keeps getting upset.

“Right, first of all, Nick, some asexuals  _are_ , but that’s not really the point at all, you’re wrong on that.”

Nick’s frown deepens a bit. “Okay,” he says, heavily, like he’s giving Louis the benefit of the doubt, “explain that to me, then.”

Louis sighs. “Look, it’s like how just because you’re sexually attracted to someone, you aren’t automatically in love. It can go both ways.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“But they’re not-” Louis rolls his eyes. “What I mean is that they’re not always tied together. So if you can be sexually attracted to someone and not romantically, it can’t be  _that hard_  to imagine it the other way. Maybe it doesn’t work that way for you, but that really doesn’t mean it  _can’t exist_.”

Louis holds his breath as he waits for Nick to respond. He’s not sure there’s much he can do to convince Nick, who’s one of the most stubborn people Louis knows.

“Just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s not real. Okay,” Nick starts, pleasantly enough, “but don’t you think there’d be something missing?”

Louis could  _scream_. “Not really,” he says tightly. “And I really don’t think it’s up to you,” he adds, “to decide these things.” He hasn’t been so angry at Nick since first year, when they spent the first eight months of class glaring daggers and spitting insults at each other.

“I’m not trying to decide anything, that’s just the way I see it. Love and sex are a package deal. It’s like milk and cookies, or rock and roll. I can’t imagine it’s quite the same if you take out half the equation.”

Nick stands, and Louis has to crane to look up at him, so he stands up as well. “It’s not up to you to decide, Nick,” he says doggedly, even as Nick is turning away, “and just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean it’s not  _a real thing_.” His eyes burn embarrassingly, frustration brimming. He usually never cries, and he won’t now, in public, but it’s been so  _long_ , and he’s so sick and tired of having this argument.

“I’ve got to get my coffee,” Nick says, and just like that, he turns and walks off towards the vending machine. Louis would follow him, but he’s suddenly just exhausted. It’s not worth it. He feels like he’s trembling, but his hand remains steady when he holds it up. His chest feels like a vice.

He sits down again and pulls out his phone as a distraction. Facebook is full of strangers sharing selfies with their friends and significant others, and Louis doesn’t care. Social media is awful.

He’s startled out of staring blankly at his Facebook feed by a rough cough.

He has to crane his neck a bit to look up to the source of the cough, because standing over him is Nick, looking something like apologetic and holding out a paper mug with a tea tag poking out from the lid. He doesn’t say anything as Louis accepts it, but this is probably the closest thing to an apology he’ll offer. Louis wonders if he’d meant to come back, or if he’d decided halfway there, or at the machine, to get something for Louis. It’s got just the right amount of milk.

“Enjoy your show,” Louis says, because ‘thanks’ would sound too much like ‘it’s okay,’ which it’s not, really. But the tea sits warm in Louis’ chest, and he softens a little as Nick takes a glance at the clock and his face drops in surprise.

Nick calls a perfunctory thanks over his shoulder as he rushes off to the studio. Louis feels a spark of satisfaction knowing that Nick’s running late because he brought Louis a tea. Things aren’t totally fine, but they’re not awful. Nick’s not completely terrible, at least.

 

++

 

Louis’ gotten into the habit, somehow, of dropping by Harry’s flat unannounced, study materials in hand, so when he shows up mid-week Zayn just opens the door to let him in and walks back to his books, where they’re thrown open across the carpet.

“Harry’s not in,” he tosses over his shoulder.

Louis feels momentarily uncomfortable, wondering if he should offer to come back later. Zayn doesn’t say anything, though, and Louis remembers with a spike of guilt that they’re pretty good friends, too. He’s spent so much time holed away with Harry this term, he realizes he’s sort of been neglecting his friendship with Zayn.

He toes off his shoes and drops down onto the carpet next to Zayn’s notes, pulling out his own books.

They sit in silence for a little while, no sound but the rustling of papers and the click of lids for Zayn’s various colours of highlighter. Louis’ really getting into his reading, actually, more productive than he’d expected, when Zayn breaks the silence.

“Everything alright? Last week, like. You seemed a bit shaken.”

Louis glances up. “Sure, yeah.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow.

Louis holds his own for a full thirty seconds before he sighs. “It’s nothing unusual,” he settles on, “Nick’s a dick, it isn’t breaking news, but we’re alright.”

Zayn watches him patiently.

Louis stares back for a long moment, then lets his shoulders slouch a bit. “You know how stubborn he can be,” Louis says, and Zayn nods. “It’s a really old argument, and we’re both really tired of having it.”

Zayn isn’t even moving. It’s a little unsettling how intense his focus can be. After another pause, he finally says, “The argument about asexuality, right?”

Louis swallows. “Yeah. That one.”

Zayn leans back against the couch, behind him. “It’s something you really care about, yeah?”

Louis’ not really surprised it’s come to this. Zayn’s always been good at making him talk, and he’s a sharp lad. “It’s important to me,” he admits, and when Zayn doesn’t start talking, Louis keeps going, speaking at length about Nick and his twattery and his stupidly attractive person (not in  _that_  way), but Zayn seems to get it, or at least doesn’t question it.

“And it’s not just Nick,” he goes on, when the light in the living room has faded, Zayn’s face illuminated dramatically by the light from the streetlamp just outside the window. “I am - I’m surrounded by stupidly attractive people! It’s incredibly unfair. You flatmate’s guilty as well.”

For the first time, Zayn lets out a little laugh. “How dare he!”

“Exactly.” Louis finds himself smiling, too. “It’s awful. Terrible.”

“At least you’ve got me. I would never do something like that to you.” Zayn grins and leans forward on his knees.

Louis clucks his tongue. “Don’t think I don’t know beauty when I see it. You can’t fool me.”

“Nothing gets past you,” Zayn laughs.

“Not a thing, Zayn. Not a thing.”

 

++

 

“As those of you who are regular listeners will know, I was out with some mates on Tuesday,” Nick is saying into the microphone, and Louis chuckles beside him.

“Tequila Tuesdays at the arts pub, disgusting,” he says into his own mic.

Nick shoots him a mock-glare. “ _When_  I was out on Tuesday with my mates, this tosser not included, we ran into - well, actually, we ran into an even bigger tosser. You may know of him-” he glances to Louis, who raises his eyebrows. He’s already heard the story, so he pipes in as Nick says, “ _Dave Hamilton_ ,” with a long-suffering air. “I think I’ve mentioned him before, you know, he shows up at all sorts of queer events,” Nick rolls his eyes. “He likes to think he puts the  _A_  in  _LGBT_ , you know,” and he looks to Louis as if for comment.

“Er, total wanker, right,” Louis says, a second too late. Nick, to his credit, is very good at what he does. He doesn’t miss a beat, even as he shoots Louis a frown.

Louis bites his tongue on a harsh comment. It’s one thing when it’s a small group; it’s one thing when Nick’s on radio and Louis is alone in his room. But right now they’re in studio together, broadcasting to the entire queer community on campus, and somehow Louis feels so much more angry than he’s used to.

“ _Are you even queer!_ ” Louis is vaguely aware that Nick’s repeated this phrase, it must be a punchline. He laughs half-heartedly into the microphone.

“Honestly. Dave Hamilton, everyone. Only bloke on campus who doesn’t know that Harry Styles is a  _raging_  homosexual.”

“Dunno how he missed it,” Louis finally breaks in.

“I know!” Nick throws his hands up, even though Louis is the only one who can see him. “Anyways, in honour of Dave Hamilton, here’s a track for you all, it’s called  _He Likes Boys_. Actually, Harry requested that one, there you go, love.”

Nick turns off the mics, and the  _on air_  button fades to dark. He sighs as he swings his chair around to face Louis, opening his mouth as if to say something.

Surprising himself, Louis cuts him off. “You can’t  _do_ that on live radio. At home, at your parties, when we’re just out and about with friends, I don’t care. Say what you want. Right to free speech, you’ve got it. I can’t change your opinion, I get it.” Nick’s mouth is still open, but he seems to be at a bit of a loss. Louis powers on. “You can’t go about telling the entire queer community of campus that the  _A_ doesn’t have a place on the queer spectrum. That’s ridiculous. It’s completely untrue. Do you realize how many people listen to your show?”

Nick finds his voice. “What are you on about?” He seems utterly bewildered, which only adds to Louis’ frustration, because it’s not as if Nick has never been told about the actual identities tied to the  _A._

" _A_  does not stand for ‘ally,’ you complete heathen, and it’s infinitely more valid as a queer identity. Asexual, aromantic, and agender are all  _perfectly legitimate_  and completely in line with the definition of queer, so stop telling everyone otherwise." Louis' breathing comes hard and Nick is looking at him in wide-eyed surprise but Louis has held his tongue for so long and he's not going to stop there. “I’m asexual, and I won’t let you erase me.” He lifts his chin and dares Nick to counter him. He tries to keep his expression stone cold, even as the panic wells up with the realization that he’s finally outed himself.

In any other context, Louis would have felt a surge of satisfaction at the stumped look on Nick's face. "So, when you say you're not interested in anybody..." Realization dawns slowly. "Huh. So people just don't...interest you." He says it like a revelation, as if Harry and Louis haven’t been trying to tell him for ages that, yes,  _this is a thing_.

Louis is startled into a laugh at Nick's phrasing. "You make me sound like a sociopath."

"No - well, you know what I mean."

"People interest me," Louis puffs. "Not in a... sex way, but they interest me. I'm interested in one right now, in fact. Romantically."  _Possibly two._  He immediately regrets what he’s said, but he squares his shoulders and doesn't break eye contact so as not to give himself away.

Nick looks oddly interested to hear that. “Is it-”

“Time, Nick,” says Louis, and Nick glances at the clock.

He has to move quickly to get everything in order, and Louis breathes a sigh of relief when the seconds tick down to zero and the red light blinks back on. Nick sends him a look, though, that says they’ll be talking about this later.

Louis just throws himself into the rest of the show, determinedly not thinking about  _later_.

The final ten minutes go by all too quickly, and then Nick is gearing up to play the last track and their hour is over.

“Thanks, Nick, for having me.”

“I don’t know who let you in, to be honest. Who are you, again?”

Louis laughs and tilts away from the mic to mutter a name at Nick that probably wouldn’t go over too well with the campus authorities. As Nick is snickering his sign off into his own microphone, Louis catches sight of a face in the window of the door. He can feel his face light up, which may or may not be tied to the sense of relief he feels, because Nick won’t be able to interrogate him, after all.

Harry barely waits until they’re off air before barrelling into the room, depositing a tray of drinks on the dash (to Nick’s indignance) and pulling them simultaneously into a hug. He smells like fresh air and dead leaves and spiced coffee. As the smallest of the group, Louis gets a facefull of Harry’s itchy scarf. He’s fairly certain that Nick’s arm circling his head to hug Harry, pressing his face further, is not an accident.

When he finally manages to pull free, Nick pointedly ignores Louis’ glare in favour of snatching the drinks from the table, grumbling about workplace standards and expensive equipment. Louis thanks him grudgingly anyways, when his tea is handed to him, perfectly warm and with just the right amount of milk.

“So Louis’ shared some interesting news with me today,” says Nick, and Louis nearly loses his mouthful of tea. He realizes as he breaks into a coughing fit that at least Nick probably isn’t referring to the crush bit.

“Alright there, Lou?” Harry asks, looking concerned. His hand finds its way to the middle of Louis’ back.

“Mm, yeah, fine,” Louis coughs. Nick once again avoids the dark look Louis shoots him.

“What’s the news?” Harry asks, still looking mildly concerned. His hand rubs small circles into Louis’ back. Louis appreciates him a lot.

“D’you, ah,” Nick suddenly looks sheepish. “Remember what I said about the, er, asexual population?”

Harry’s hand stills, and he glances briefly to Louis. “What, specifically?”

“Well, there was one time, in particular, and I said I’d never personally met anyone who identified as - “ he trails off, rubs his hands together awkwardly.

“As asexual,” Harry finishes, turning to stare at Louis fully. His hand stills, but his eyes crinkle into a smile.

“Well,” Nick says, “as it turns out,” and then he cuts off. “Hang on- oh, no, absolutely not.” Louis breaks Harry’s gaze to find Nick glancing between them with narrowed eyes. “You already knew,” he tells Harry accusingly.

“S’been a while, now,” Harry shrugs.

Nick looks like he’s about to say something else, and Louis is suddenly gripped with a fear that he’ll spout something awful and too revealing, so he grabs Harry’s arm abruptly. “How about a cuppa, yeah?”

Two pairs of eyes turn to look at him oddly.

“But I brought-”

“You’ve literally got a steaming mug of tea right there in your hand,” says Nick.

“Better clear out for the next slot,” says Louis, though there’s no one at the door yet, and Nick’s said they’re usually late. He pulls Harry out, knowing Nick will follow, even if Louis’ acting a bit odd. Hopefully he’ll have caught a hint.

 

++

 

They wind up at the same cafe Louis had been to with Harry, way back at the start of term. They sit down inside, this time, though. It’s already dark out, and Louis shivers as they crowd inside and the warmth hits them.

They sit themselves in the armchairs by the window. Harry drops his bag and coat and excuses himself to the counter, because one of them’s got to buy something, even if they’ve all already got their drinks (Harry insists that’s fine).

“So,” says Nick, as soon as Harry’s gone, “our Harry.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Harold, yes.” He nods purposefully, as though they’re having a deep conversation.

“Called it, you know.”

“Oh my god, Nick, this isn’t grade school.”

“What? You definitely fancy him.” Nick leans forward with a sly smile quirking his lips. “S’not anything to be embarrassed of,” he says, though his expression implies otherwise.

“It’s not that. Nick, don’t.”

Nick sighs in a put-upon way. Louis knows that sigh; Nick reserves it especially for him. “There’s no one else it  _could be_ , I dunno who you’re trying to kid.”

“Who are we kidding?”

Louis jumps in his seat as Harry’s voice materializes over his shoulder.

“You,” says Nick, and Harry looks bemused as he takes his seat, but doesn’t question it.

“Right,” he says, leaning forward and settling his elbows on his knees. He steeples his fingers in front of him. “Let’s talk.”

Louis stares for a minute, then glances at Nick.

“Alright,” Nick advances eventually, “...what about?”

Harry furrows his brow. “You mean where to start?” He looks at Louis.

And now there are two expectant faces watching him. Louis clears his throat. “What do you want to know?”

Nick whets his lips. “So, asexual. What, er. What does that mean to you?”

That’s not so hard. Louis feels himself relax a bit. “Well, it’s a spectrum, right. So it means something a bit different for everyone. Some people are really repulsed by sex - I’m not, but I don’t really take much interest in it. Some ace people do.”

Maybe that’s a bit much for an introduction, because Nick looks a bit lost. “Hang on...”

“Well,” Louis tries, “it’s like how you don’t need to be with a guy to get off, yeah? Attraction and libido aren’t connected. So some ace people - asexuals -” Nick nods, “don’t have any interest in sex, or very low interest levels. And some people do.” Louis shrugs.

Nick looks thoughtful, and he doesn’t react for a long minute, but then he starts nodding slowly. Louis can feel a smile begin to tug at his lips. A glance towards Harry earns him a subtle thumbs-up and a grin.

“And under the term of asexual,” Louis goes on, when Nick says nothing, “there are others - demi, grey-a, for people who sometimes feel sexual attraction, but it’s not standard for them. They only feel it when they’re already emotionally very close, or it’s - a bit of a fluke, I guess. And there are similar categories for being aromantic, too.”

“But isn’t that - so what you’re saying if is someone doesn’t want to have sex with someone they’re not interested in as a  _person_ , they must be asexual?” Nick looks skeptical.

“No, it’s not that. If someone just doesn’t want to have sex, that doesn’t mean they’re asexual. There are allosexual people who-”

“People who do feel sexual attraction,” Harry puts in helpfully.

“Yes - who have a low sex drive. And sometimes I think it’s just personal preference, some people enjoy sex more if it’s with people they care about.”

Harry nods at Nick, who still looks like he’s thinking.

“The difference,” Louis says, “is that ace-spectrum people don’t feel any sexual attraction. It’s like - I can recognize pretty people, and I know what makes someone  _hot_ , but - for me, at least - the feeling’s sort of abstract. There’s nothing I particularly want to act on because of those feelings. It’s hard to describe.”

“And asexual people might still feel romantic attraction. Like you.”

Louis catches Harry’s (quite unsubtle) raised eyebrows, and ignores them. “Yeah. And vice versa, some aromantic people feel sexual attraction.”

Nick’s thoughtful expression stays in place over the course of the rest of the evening, but he’s uncharacteristically quiet. He doesn’t have much to say to Louis’ short lecture on Ace Identities 101. He seems to have run out of questions, and Louis’ not sure what else he might need to know, or if he’s pieced it all together just fine by himself. So the subject changes, and they sit around chatting for a few hours, until Louis looks at his watch and realizes it’s past nine o’clock and they haven’t had dinner. He curses.

“I’d better go, then,” says Nick as they stand and grab their coats.

“Really?” Harry asks, surprised. “You don’t want to come with us for dinner? We could head to Nando’s,” he offers, very generously, Louis knows. Harry’s a bit stuck-up when it comes to Nando’s.

“Nah,” Nick smiles, but it seems a little detached. “Think I’ll just head home and heat up some - something. I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”

Harry looks like he might protest, but Louis shrugs. “Suit yourself.” Harry shuts his mouth and arranges his scarf around his collar as they step outside. “See you, then.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Louis is pretty sure he doesn’t frown as they see Nick walk off towards the nearest tube, and if Harry thinks Nick’s being a bit odd, he doesn’t comment.

 

++

 

When Louis gets home after dinner, there are a few messages waiting for him on Facebook. He pulls open the messenger to find that Harry’s made a new chat, titled “This Chat is Aces” and he rolls his eyes and most definitely doesn’t laugh. The photo is a black-and-white shot of the front of Liam’s chippy, of all places. Louis’ got to admit it does look kind of cool, though.

Harry’s already left a few messages: the first reads,

 

 **Harry Styles**   _to_  This Chat is Aces  
_21:20_

Hello! This is the asexual chat.

The chat isn’t asexual. We can talk about ace things here.

_21:24_

I found us a couple of resources already:

[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asexuality) [ **Asexuality** ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asexuality)

[ **http://www.asexuality.org/home/** ](http://www.asexuality.org/home/)

Which I found useful. Nick, this is a space where you can send any questions you have, tell us if you aren’t clear on any of the concepts. And Louis, you can send any feelings or thoughts or links or anything you want.

 **Louis Tomlinson** _to_ This Chat is Aces  
_21:38_

Thank you, Harold. I’m excited to start working at the office.

Best, Louis

 **Harry Styles** _to_  This Chat is Aces  
_21:39_

What?

 **Louis Tomlinson** _to_ This Chat is Aces  
_21:41_

you type like an office worker . Or my prof

**Harry Styles  
** _21:43_

I type like someone who’s literate.

_21:44_

Sorry. That was mean.

**Louis Tomlinson  
** _21:46_

Youre a bully, Harry .

**Harry Styles  
** _21:47_

At least I know how to punctuate.

**Louis Tomlinson  
** _21:49_

Get !! On !! My !! Level !! B) B)

Louis Tomlinson named the conversation: this chat is aces !!.

 

Harry doesn’t reply, so Louis settles in at his desk to study a bit. He can’t help but check his phone every few minutes, though, distracted. He’s got it right next to his books, so he can’t miss the screen when it lights up with a new message, but it’s only a notification about Liam tweeting something or other (" **Liam Payne** _@Real_liam_payne_  I’m a fancy candle" - whatever that means). The chat stays empty for the rest of the night. Nick doesn’t even show as having seen it.

 

++

 

That weekend feels endless for two reasons: one, it’s late November, and final projects loom horrifyingly close. Two, Louis came out to his best friend on Friday, and hasn’t heard a word from him since.

He’s always counted himself lucky, because he’s never had to worry about his friends running off just because he liked boys. He wonders if Nick would understand the parallels between this and the traditional coming out narrative if Louis tried to point them out.

Nick does see a few messages in “this chat is aces !!” but he never  _says_  anything, so Louis tries to bury himself in theatre projects and final papers, and not let himself think too hard on the situation with Nick.

Louis checks the chat first thing on Saturday, as soon as he wakes up. He checks it over the pages of his books, until he realizes he can’t focus. He checks his phone at the end of every other page, then, as a reward. Nick doesn’t reply. Harry sends a few inane messages, and Louis responds with light-hearted comments almost mechanically.

Louis stays in his room all Saturday. It’s a sunny day, blindingly so, bright enough that he has to tug his curtains closed in the late afternoon. The slanting sunlight glances off his laptop screen, interrupting the writing of his paper. His desk collects mugs as the day wears on. He eats a few bowls of ramen and stares fixedly at various rectangular blocks of text and checks his phone obsessively and when he wakes up on Sunday morning, he feels totally unrested.

Sunday morning he steps outside of his flat before he hits the books. It’s cold out, the kind of clear, brisk silence that sounds like impending winter. It smells like frost. The wind nips his wrists, because he’s left his gloves at home. His breath billows in from of his face like the fog that’s settled over the city this weekend. Winters in London are miserable. Somehow, he finds his mood’s improved, anyway, when he gets home, less distracted by his phone sitting quiet and dark by a new mug of tea just next to his books.

“It lives!” Liam says in surprise when Louis walks out of his room that evening. Louis makes a rude gesture as he shuffles to the kitchen to root around for food. He finds a jar of peanut butter and eyes the cutlery drawer pensively.

“Brought home some chips from work, they’re in the fridge” Liam offers from the living room, and Louis calls a thanks through a sticky mouthful of peanut butter.

When he’s made it back to his room with his spoils - a styrofoam container of cold chips and a new mug of tea - he arrives just in time to see his phone light up on his desk.

He kicks his door shut behind him and frowns around another spoon laden with peanut butter. It’s probably not Nick, he tells himself. He knows better than to get his hopes up.  _But…_

He drops his dinner on the desk to pick up his phone. He pulls the spoon from his mouth and swipes to the messenger ap.

 

 **Nick Grimshaw** _to_  this chat is aces !!  
_19:58_

So AVEN seems to be a good resource.

 

Louis frowns at his phone and tries not to read too much into it. It’s… pretty cold, for Nick. If it’d been Harry, that would be a very normal text, but Nick’s usually worse than Louis. The lack of emojis is unsettling.

 

 **Louis**  T **omlinson** _to_  this chat is aces !!  
_20:00_

J yeah I found it really helpful, back in the day ! B) B)

 

He wonders if the emojis come across as too aggressively upbeat. He nearly deletes the message twice before fortifying himself. He sends.

A few minutes later he wonders if he was coming on a bit strong, because Nick’s gone silent again. And Louis hears nothing more from Nick for the rest of the evening.

He finally drops off to sleep somewhere in the vicinity of three AM, and he sleeps deeply and doesn’t dream.

 

 

 

His sleep, most unfortunately, is not uninterrupted.

He’s roused by the ding of a notification at some point in the unholy darkness of early morning, followed by three more in quick succession. He groans, but yet another sound prompts him to reach over for his phone, intending to turn off the sound.

He catches sight of the notification as he squints through the dark, and he pauses.

 

_just now_

**Nick Grimshaw** _to_  this chat is aces !!: ALSO  
_swipe to view_

 

The rest of the message is cut off. Louis frowns. Despite himself, he swipes to unlock his phone.

By the time he’s opened the messenger, there are six new messages from Nick.

 

 **Nick Grimshaw** _to_  this chat is aces !!  
_5:34_

After a long weekend of research

extensive

I’ve read a lot on ace people and all. A LOT.

_5:36_

ALSO

GOOOOOOOOD MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORNING!!!!!!

Louis groans and buries his head in his pillow and wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve this. Now Harry will know Louis’ told Nick  _something_  about his crush - he can only hope they don’t try to compare notes. Shit. It’s too early for this. He blinks his eyes open and squints painfully at the screen, finally managing to work up the energy to type a quick message:

 

 **Louis Tomlinson**   _to_  this chat is aces !!  
_5:37_

wtf

 

He burrows deeper into his duvet, closes his eyes and prays Nick quiets down. He’s not even half awake, so it doesn’t take him long to slip back into sleep.

A moment later he finds himself wrenched back into semi-consciousness. Eyes blurring with tiredness, he swears at his phone.

 

 **Nick Grimshaw** _to_ this chat is aces !!  
_5:42_

oh you’re up!! Good J J

listen I’m sorry i vanished yeah? i wanted to read up on things. crush things. things about your crush

 **Louis Tomlinson** _to_  this chat is aces !!  
_5:43_

wtf

nick 

 **Nick Grimshaw** _to_  this chat is aces !!  
_5:44_

SHIT THIS IS THE GROUP CHAT ISNT IT

 **Louis Tomlinson**   _to_  this chat is aces !!  
_5:44_

nick the fuck its you the crush id u you complete wanker

 

Louis drops his phone next to him and sighs into the soft embrace of his duvet. Maybe that will shut Nick up, if nothing else. Distantly, Louis’ aware that he’ll probably come to regret that once he’s conscious, but right now he wouldn’t classify himself as awake. The time for regrets will come later.

He’s pulled violently from sleep again just as he starts to drift off, this time by Diana Ross belting out,  _“AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH ENOUGH-”_ he fumbles for his phone again at his bedside before realizing it’s only just slipped out of his hand onto the mattress. He doesn’t even look up, keeps his face in the pillow as he switches his phone to speaker croaks out, “the fuck, Nick.” This is followed by a long string of likely indecipherable cursing - Louis’ not sure what he’s saying. All he knows is that it’s arse o’clock in the morning and he wonders if he can smother himself in his pillow if he tries hard enough, but he’s got the source of his woes right here on the phone and it’d be a shame to waste that.

Nick doesn’t say anything until Louis’ worn himself out, and he’s quiet for a while after that, so long that Louis nearly drops off yet again.

When he finally speaks, he sounds quieter than usual. “Are you asleep?”

Louis doesn’t answer.

“Listen I hope you’re awake... because I really want to talk to you about that romantic attraction thing.”

Louis frowns into his pillow, but he hums without really thinking, and Nick must (maybe) take that as an indication to go on.

“I know - I know I’ve been a bit of a shit friend. And I said a few things about asexuality and romantic relationships because I didn’t really understand, and I was wrong, and I’m sorry about that, Lou.”

Louis cracks one eye open and shifts to give his phone a surprised glance. He’s not sure he’s ever heard Nick properly apologize for anything before.

“And I can’t promise that I won’t trip up again, but I’ve done my research and I’ll keep on doing that. And I’d really like to talk to you about, er. Your interest in romantic relationships.”

Louis, feeling marginally more awake, rolls over and drops his phone on his stomach, which is suddenly twisted into odd knots.

He sighs. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

“Did you mean it? The guy you fancy. It’s me.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, voice nearly a whisper.

“Not Harry.”

Louis doesn’t answer that. He’s not sure what to say, but he doesn’t want to lie.

“Louis?"

“Both, maybe?” The first time he tries, his voice comes out nearly silent, so he whets his lips and tries again. “What if it’s both?”

He’s not sure where this courage has come from. It probably stems from the fact that he’s half-convinced he’s dreaming right now, though his eyelids feel lighter by the minute.

There’s another long pause, this time from Nick’s end.

“Well,” he says at last, “I guess we’d...have to ask Harry about that.”

 

++

 

When Louis wakes up at around noon on Monday, he’s half convinced he dreamt the conversation. Morning sunlight spills across his rumpled duvet, and his head aches slightly. He doesn’t check his phone as he gets up to fill himself a glass of water at the kitchen sink, nor as he rummages around in the cupboards for breakfast, because he’s not convinced he wants to know whether or not that conversation really happened.

He doesn’t check his phone as he sets on the kettle and eats a bowl of cereal and stalls until the numbers on the oven clock tell him he’s only got half an hour to get dressed and head to class.

He doesn’t check his phone on the way. He does pay for that, finds himself distracted all through his class on theatre in performance, where they’re practising a bit of Commedia. He’s physically preoccupied for the full hour, unable to sneak a glance at his phone then.

When he finally takes the chance to check his messages, as he’s walking out of the classroom, there is no “this chat is aces !!” but he  _does_  have five unread messages for “At long, long last”. Louis clicks on that and scrolls up.

 

Harry Styles named the conversation: At long, long last..

 **Harry Styles**   _to_  At long, long last  
_6:49_

Does this mean you’ve finally gotten everything out in the open?

You’ve all come clean?

_6:58_

What happened?

_7:01_

Hello?

 

There’s nothing else, no new calls or texts from Nick. Louis’ not sure what standard procedure is for this - if he’s not mistaken, Nick said something about talking to Harry. Louis’ not entirely clear on what they might talk about. His crushes on the two of them? He’s not certain what purpose that conversation would serve.

“Louis!”

The shout of his name takes Louis by surprise, and he glances around quickly before his eyes settle on - Harry, waving at him, and Nick at his side.

“Come get coffee with us,” says Harry, not leaving much room for argument.

“We know your schedule,” Nick adds, when Louis hesitates. He’s not sure how to react. He feels, frankly, a little bit cornered.

“...alright. Sure. Let’s get  _tea_. Someplace cheap this time, though,” he says, which rules out most places off campus right away. They wind up at the little shop on campus that sells one-pound fair trade coffee, and tea for seventy-five pence. It’s cheap tea, bitter and stale, but it’s dirt cheap and they’ll take what they can get.

They find a very small round table and have to drag over a chair and fight a bit for leg space. They wind up with their elbows bumping and their legs tangled sort-of-comfortably. Louis eyes the two of them carefully as they settle down, and Harry puts down his mug (one from home, “for the good of the earth”) and says right away, “so we have a few options,” to which Nick very obviously gives him a sharp kick under the table (Louis knows this in part because he can  _feel_  them both jolt). Louis gets the distinct impression that there’ve been things said behind his back. It’s not comforting.

“What Harry  _means_ ,” Nick says, “is that we’ve both realized that you told us each that you had a crush on the other. Incidentally,” but Louis cuts him off by scooting his chair back impulsively. He’s not going to bolt, probably, but he’s feeling distinctly unsettled.

“What’ve you two been talking about?”

“God, Nick,” says Harry, unhelpfully.

“We haven’t been talking about you, promise.” Louis raises his eyebrows. “I swear. Harry messaged me asking if things were okay, because it was before ten and we all know you wouldn’t have been up yet, and I suggested we meet up here. That’s it.”

“But I know-” Harry breaks off with a wince as Nick smiles forcefully across the table, hands clenched around his mug.

“So, Louis, would you like to tell Harry what you told me this morning?”

This sounds like an intervention. Louis feels vaguely like a child being scolded. “Not particularly,” he mutters, but sighs. “Which part?”

“The bit about - you know. Who you fancy."

“Very grade school. What’s the point of this?”

Nick and Harry exchange a glance.

Louis waits a few beats to see if anything else will happen, but Nick and Harry seem to be a bit lost themselves. Louis finds this oddly reassuring - he’s not the only one, at least, who feels like this conversation is awkward as hell.

“I know you fancy Nick,” Harry says eventually. “And I think Nick thinks - or thought? - that you fancied me. Are, like - were we both right?”

Louis wants to bury his face in his hands. This is quite possibly one of the most uncomfortable situations he’s ever been in. He wonders what life must be like for people who are good at - at  _relationship things_.

“You’re not wrong,” he tells them, more firmly than he expected. He feels a little proud of himself, which boosts his confidence a bit.

Harry looks suddenly relieved. The expression blooms like sunlight across his face. Nick grins broadly, and he looks a little bit smug, which is decidedly irritating, but the two of them are also decidedly attractive and on top of that they’ve managed to worm their ways into Louis’ heart. He’s inexplicably fond of both of them.

Harry, looking as terribly fond of them both as Louis feels, presses his knee a bit closer to Louis.

“In a happy twist of fate,” he says brightly, “it just so happens that all of our feelings are mutual!” He looks inordinately pleased with the situation. Or maybe his feelings are perfectly ordinate - is that a word? - Louis’ probably grinning a bit stupidly too. He doesn’t really care.

“You mean it?” Nick’s glancing between the two of them, looking more surprised than Louis would’ve thought. “You, too?” He asks Harry.

Well, this is grand. It’s a bit improbable, and maybe feels more dreamlike than Louis’ half-awake conversation this morning. Louis feels like laughing, and he does, freely. “So this is happening, then? 

“Well, hang on - what is  _this_ , exactly?” Nick asks, looking between the two of them as if he expects them to know.

Harry shrugs. “It’s a something. We’ll see how it goes and figure it out later.”

Nick stares at him for a long moment, then nods firmly. “Alright, then. Let’s do that.”

Louis takes a deep breath. “For real? We’re doing this?”

“For realsies,” Harry confirms.

“For realsies?” Nick echoes, “Let’s pinky-swear on it, then," he says, tone slightly mocking.

Harry holds out his pinky, and Nick tries to bat his hand away but he catches Nick’s finger and shakes firmly, looking pleased as punch. Nick tries to look a bit reluctant, but fails miserably. And this is weird, and sudden, and Louis’ got no real clue how to deal with this. They’re probably going to muck it up terribly. But it’s worth a go, he thinks. For the first time, at least, he feels like together they’ve got a chance at something.

 

++

 

When the three of them file into Liam’s chippy on Wednesday, Louis fights the urge to reach out and grab their hands. He’s in the middle, their shoulders brushing with every step. He feels a bit like a penguin, huddling in a group for warmth.

It’s probably their last regular Wednesday Chips Night until after the holidays, because they’re all getting bogged down by schoolwork. They’re the last ones here, tonight. They’d been at Harry’s flat, ostensibly studying but really just cuddling on the couch, and they’d lost track of time.

“Sorry we’re late,” Harry says, ever the polite one, as they slide into the bench. First Harry, and then Louis and Nick, all along the same side. It means that they’re a bit squashed, but that’s alright. Nick’s hand lands on Louis’ knee under the table, and Harry’s fingers lace with his, and Louis bites back a grin. They haven’t talked about how they’re going to play tonight, so Louis doesn’t want to be the one to make it obvious, but - god help him - he’s undeniably smitten.

Zayn eyes them oddly as they settle together, shifting elbows and bums to accommodate their closeness. Louis catches his eye, and Zayn raises one perfect brow. Louis’s lips quirk.

Zayn’s face blooms into an unreserved smile, and Louis has to duck his head so he won’t grin like a total idiot in reply. That’s one person who’s figured it out, then.

There’s a new face in the crowd tonight, and Taylor waves excitedly at them from a couple tables down. Once she’s caught their attention, she put an arm around the girl beside her and, grinning beautifully, tells them, “This is my girlfriend! Karlie, Nick, Louis, and Harry.” She points to each of them with their free hand, and Karlie offers a little wave and a smile as cinematic as Taylor’s. This table, Louis thinks, is just full of stunningly attractive couples. Or trios, as the case may be.

It’s not long before Liam comes by - they’re that late - with an armful of chips for the table. Louis pushes at Nick until he gets up to carry over a few more baskets, because they always eat too many and “poor Liam shouldn’t have to do all the work himself, Nick.” Louis shakes his head in shame.

Nick rolls his eyes and gets up.

Harry gives Louis a nudge and looks at him with smiling eyes. “That was mean.”

“What was I to do? I was trapped. And they don’t need / _three_ ,” he says, waving his hands helplessly. “Three would be far too many.”

Harry bites his lip and ducks his head as he snickers, his curls brushing Louis neck and nose nearly brushing his shoulder. Liam raises his eyebrows as he passes over their chips.  _That makes two, then_.

Louis makes sure Liam notices his hands brush Nick’s and linger a bit when Nick comes back to the table, because it’s not fair otherwise. Liam’s eyes go wide and he looks more confused than anything, but Louis’s still biting back a grin anyways as he swipes a chip from Nick even though he’s got a full plate already. And he can only laugh, a bit helplessly, as Nick makes a noise of outrage and grabs a handful in retaliation.

A peel of laughter erupts from down at the other end of the table, and Louis tunes in just in time to hear, “-with Dave - Hamilton, you know, he’s so funny-”

“Don’t tell me you’re friends with him,” Nick calls.

Taylor cuts off in the middle of speaking and turns to face Nick. “Dave Hamilton is a gem, and I won’t hear anything else. I  _love_  Dave!”

Nick clears his throat. “Dave thinks-” and then he breaks off, abruptly, and looks at Louis.

“He thinks being an ally means he’s queer.” He hadn’t realized they’d never talked about this bit. Louis feels strangely touched that Nick’s thought to question it. A bit miffed, still, that he’d think there might be something  _to_  question.

Nick leans into Louis’ shoulder and Louis smiles a bit harder as he fumbles for Nick’s hand under the table and holds on. Taylor raises an eyebrow and glances between the two of them, but then she shrugs.

“Oh, right - didn’t you mention that, on your show? I mean, he’s funny, though. That doesn’t change, you know?”

Nick and Louis share a  _look_ , and Harry sighs. “Be nice,” he mutters, when Taylor’s turned back to chatting with Pixie and Ed down the table.

“Whatever you say, Haz,” he whispers back. His fingers are still linked with the hands on either side of him, and he just can’t for the life of him stop smiling.

“I -  _nice!_ ”

Louis twists bodily to stare at him. “Yes? I am...?”

“ _That’s_  the ‘N’.  _Nice.”_

“What are you on about?” Nick asks, and Louis is torn between bursting out laughing and berating Harry horribly.

He settles for both. “ _Nice_ ,” he laughs, “that’s not - Harry-”

Harry makes a face. “Well, it  _is_. It’s nice and normal to be any of those things.”

“ _What am I missing?”_ Nick asks, winding a long arm around Louis’ waist. There are a few people at the table watching them, and Nick might have just given them away, but Louis can’t bring himself to care too much.

“Harold,” Louis tells him, leaning back and making himself comfortable, “has been trying to define ‘ _normal’.”_

“Well I don’t think any of us could quite fall under that label,” Nick says. Louis can feel Nick’s voice vibrating through his chest.

Louis gives Harry’s hand a squeeze, because he’s looking awfully offended. Nick’s got a point, probably, but maybe, Louis thinks, normal’s just not what it’s cracked up to be. At any rate, if this - what the three of them are, what they might have - is abnormal, that suits Louis just fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> All my love goes to [Brittany](http://haloeverlasting.tumblr.com) and [Elena](http://fookinloosah.tumblr.com) who've helped me through frantically trying to finish this piece through finals and the hectic holidays.  
> I am not british, nor do I have a Britpick. I hope no one's terribly offended by my butchering of Britishisms.
> 
> The original prompt was as follows:  
> AU where Nick is an outspoken LGBT+ mouthpiece (meaning he’s that loud obnoxious person who wants to talk about it all the time and educate people all the time, but he always gets the A wrong--thinking it’s more for ally and not necessary). Louis is his closeted asexual best friend and has had enough of Nick’s rants about it so he educates him and tells him, "A does not stand for ally, you uncultured swine, it’s for asexual, aromantic, and agender. I’m asexual and I won’t let you erase me.” Then he kind of realises he came out to Nick. Apologies and love follow.
> 
> Also maybe, PLEASE, Queer Harry who is Nick's other best friend and advises Louis on his sexuality all the time. He’s known for a while because he thought Louis was homophobic when they first met since Nick would always go off on tangents and he’d get annoyed but when Harry confronts him he’s just like, "No I just feel left out and it's not fair." So everytime Nick does something Harry tries to correct him but he never listens so he just kind of texts Louis like “u okay? :/" -- Possibly Stylinshaw/Larry Undertones?


End file.
